


Solus in Furs

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: And So Much More, Crack, Dark, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, M/M, Multi, Other, Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tentacles, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 69
Words: 47,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: A collection of short drabbles--mostly smut peppered with SFW nonsense.





	1. IDW: Quark(/Brainstorm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little ficbit of Quark masturbating. Gift for cresnoir.

The washracks are steamy, solvent gushing down on the tiled floor from the shower head. 

The heat helps Quark move along. He lays back, venting-panting heavily as he has for the last fifteen minutes. Between each gasp of breath, a trembling whimper. He’s propped upright, legs spread open, letting the cleaning solution pour onto his open channel.

Quark groans, staring down at his channel, the beads and little streams of lubricant mingling with the solvent. “Mmm… please…” he croons, hooking two fingers inside his channel, rubbing and massaging his ceiling node. His second hand squeezes his hooded anterior node, rolling it in his fingers like a bead, but it feels so damn perfect in its pain.

“Ah… ah… Br… Brai…” Quark squeezes his optics shit, teeth clenched. His glasses are fogged. He bucks his hips up into the probing fingers, rolls them and rides. He’s tried toys, but they’re useless. 

Quark thought the old fashioned way might work, but… No. Nothing. This wasn’t enough. His body, so hot, so high-strung, so wired and sensitive, needed something more. Something like the real thing.

Quark whimpered. No, he couldn’t… Brainstorm was his… He just… Quark cried out, sitting forward, at one harsh flick to his anterior node. He heaved, slowly flopping back down, optics purple and glasses tilted. 

“Brainstorm…” he grumbles, ashamed, under his breath, and works off the remaining charge clumsily.


	2. IDW: Perceptor/Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor/Drift, fingering, quckie ficlet.

Perceptor bit down on his bottom lip, suffocating his whimper. His faceplates were hot, his optics burning; he could feel the heat as he pressed his hands against his face. A combination of both ridiculous pleasure and embarrassment.

Drift, on the other hand, was all smiles.

“Nnh, Drift,” Perceptor choked, wiggling against the floor, “p-please–”

Drift smirked, kneeling between the scientist’s quivering legs. “Please, what?” He thrust his fingers back into Perceptor’s port, earning a small cry. “Was that it?”

“P-Please!” Perceptor mewled desperately.

Drift chuckled. “A little harder then?” He slammed his fingers in again, faster this time, edges pushing up against that ceiling node.

Perceptor keened. “Y-Yes!”

Drift worked his digits in quick strokes, stretching over top the scientist’s body. “You’re really make a lot of dirty sounds, y'know,” he teased. The squelching, wet noise of Perceptor’s port and calipers squeezing around those probing fingers was just downright… obscene.

No need to tell Perceptor that, however. “N-Nno…” He pushed his face further into his hands, kinda wanting to just… melt away. His quivering thighs closed around Drift’s fingers when they thrust in to the hilt, once again jabbing that ceiling node.

“Hey, hey…” Drift gently pulled one of Perceptor’s hands from his face. “C'mon. Let me see your face.” He smiled as he gently coaxed the second hand away. Perceptor swallowed, frowning pitifully. “Not bad,” Drift smirked, winking. He leaned in, fingers pushing; pressed his lips against Perceptor’s neck and kissed a strained throat tube.

Perceptor exvented. He switched off his optic, raising shivering hands to slowly thread his arms around Drift’s back, pulling him a little closer. Drift purred into his shoulder; for that, another hard thrust, and another wonderful cry. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and kissed Perceptor again.


	3. IDW: Quark/tentacles(/Brainstorm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written to [this post](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/137370198198/adhesivesandscrap-nethervane-imagine). Dubcon and mpreg ahoy.

Quark was vaguely thankful for the tentacle probing down his throat. It helped muffle the obscene, embarrassing noises he was making.

It was already bad enough that Brainstorm was seeing him like… this. Pinned onto the lab floor, limbs bound by semi-translucent alien tentacles, all belonging to a giant amorphous looking creature. It had eight appendages total–aforementioned binding, the one currently fucking deep down his throat, and another–the thickest, largest–thrusting inside his stretched channel. And it was clear to see (literally and figuratively) the eggs moving from the base of the strange creature through its ovipositor, and up until five minutes ago, inside Quark.

It was all a very… indescribable situation, but Quark wasn’t fighting or struggling. It hurt a bit; the eggs were fairly large, and required some effort to push through his channel and into his abdominal chambers. It only took three before his plating started buckling, visibly showing a bump forming from the eggs collecting. And Quark would close his optics, and not stare at Brainstorm watching him in awe and something a bit more mischievous, but…

Quark cried around the tentacle in his mouth, though it was softened. One rather large, stubborn egg was jammed through his channel, tearing slightly at the lining mesh. Energon mingled with the lubricant and transfluid leaking out from around the ovipositor, and Brainstorm looked shocked and nervous. He went to intervene, but Quark made a small noise and arched off the ground. A whimper; not one of pain, but the exact opposite.

Brainstorm swallowed, his throat very, very dry. Unlike his very, very wet channel struggling not to leak lubricant from the seams of his closed codpiece.

Six eggs, and Quark’s stomach was bulging, expanding to fit their girth. It was a tight fit nonetheless. The armor creaked, but he didn’t feel much pain. His receptors were offline, limiting the feedback; mostly just a numb tingling, a little heat. The alien-thing cooed, almost as if trying to comfort its incubator; it let Quark’s legs ago, where they collapsed weakly around its body, using the now freed tentacle to gently stroke the scientist’s round belly.

Quark wasn’t sure when he overloaded, but he knew he had. As evident by the fluids dribbling from his channel, and the sluggishness that followed a good, hard fuck. He relaxed, finally closing his optics, and let the alien finish depositing its seventh egg. It was the sudden explosion of sensation of the ovipositor pulled from his channel, and the tentacle ripped from his mouth, that jolted him online with a gasp. The shock was strong enough to quickly knock him back out, the world spinning to darkness as his HUD quietly assessed the damages.

***

Quark exvented, lowering his datapad. Brainstorm was clinging to his belly again, nuzzling his face against the curved plating. “What do you expect to hear?” he grumbled, putting the datapad aside. He shifted, wincing; the pressure of the eggs he was carrying was doing a number on his backstrut.

Brainstorm immediately helped him up, moving him delicately. He sat down beside Quark on the berth, a hand lightly stroking his abdomen.

“I know you hate when I say this–”

“Don’t.”

“But you look so cute.”

Quark sighed bitterly.

“Also, time to eat.” Brainstorm produced the large cube of energon, and Quark nearly snatched it from his hands, quickly peeling a corner and guzzling the sweet liquid down hungrily. He wasn’t feeding for only one, now; it was quite irritating, but nothing he could do about it. “Easy, easy,” Brainstorm chuckled, lowering the cube. “Don’t wanna upset anything.”

Quark wiped his lips, embarrassed. “These annoying little buggers… One month, and I’ll be rid of the bloody things.”

Brainstorm smirked. “By the way,” he said, “here’s this, too.”

Quark looked down. Brainstorm was holding out a small datapad. He slowly took it, looked the ‘pad over. His optics widened, glasses flashing. “This–is this a list of… names?” he spat.

“Most we can change, but I really think Agatha would be adorable!”

Quark sat the datapad down, massaging his temples.

Brainstorm just chuckled, resting his head against Quark’s belly. Quark didn’t bother to push him away. “One of you shift if you like the name Agatha,” he whispered against the plating.

“No!”


	4. IDW: Jazz/Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. I've not read RiD, so this may be off. Consider this an AU or something else that works if it doesn't make sense. :T For daniellethehanyo on Tumblr. Prompt: "I just want to see you smile."

Prowl turned his head, spitting energon and coolant. More of it dribbled in his mouth from his split lip. He looked back, left optic shattered and dim.

Jazz was still heaving and shaking, hands in fists, wet with spilled energon. “Had enough?” he vented angrily.

Prowl said nothing. He slowly gathered back onto his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the purple fluid. “Stand down, Jazz,” he said coarsely.

Jazz grit his teeth. “Don’t fight me, Prowl!” he snapped. “I don’t wanna do this!”

“Then stand down!” Prowl barked. “Or are you worried doing so would be aiding a criminal?”

Jazz frowned sadly. “No,” he said. “I want–”

Jazz grunted as Prowl suddenly bowled into him, slamming the mech against the wall. Jazz recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around Prowl and throwing him over his shoulders. Prowl hit the ground with a loud oomph, only to have his arms pinned behind his back a second later. “Stop struggling!” Jazz ordered. “I’m not here to arrest you, I told you!”

“Then why are you here!?” Prowl demanded.

“Because I’m your friend,” Jazz spat.

Prowl was quiet, but at least he was no longer struggling.

“I just want to help you, Prowl,” Jazz insisted, softly now. “This has got to stop. You need to stop. I just…” _want you back, want you like you were before, want you to smile, at least, anything to prove I haven’t completely lost you, not yet._ “… want to be your friend again.”


	5. IDW: Ratchet+Ambulon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. For anon on tumblr: Ratchet and random patient, "No you don't get a choice."

“No, you don’t get a choice. Not on this, at least.”

Ambulon winced. Ratchet stood before him like some fearful tyrant, an impenetrable soldier. Arms folded, glaring at the younger medic heatedly.

“It’s just going to flake off again, anyway,” Ambulon insisted.

“Then we’ll repaint you when that happens,” Ratchet snorted. He gathered the bucket of paint from the floor, dropping it in Ambulon’s lap. “Anyway, it’s a special blend. I mixed it myself.”

Ambulon peeled back the corner of the bucket. He took a whiff and blinked. “It smells–”

“It is exactly what you think it is. The chemical bonds better with the frame, especially if there’s sensor or nanite damage.” Ratchet huffed. “It wasn’t easy, but I think I got the formula down; it took me a few weeks, but after testing it out myself, it should be just fine. This way your shedding will be kept to a minimum.”

Ambulon looked confused, lost. “You… did this. For me?”

“Of course,” Ratchet said, “you need it. And you’re my teammate.”

Teammate–the word felt strange to Ambulon. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he was in a team, or a part of something–anything. Not with his Combiner partners, not with Pharma and First Aid on Delphi. But now, on this Autobot ship full of mostly lunatics and rejects…

“You don’t need to thank me.”

Ambulon swallowed. “I was just…” Ratchet had caught him. But he was thankful for that as well. His spark clenched. “Well, you *are* Ratchet, the best medic the Autobots have to offer. I trust it’ll work just fine.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You can’t blame me for being skeptical anyway.”


	6. IDW: Perceptor/Vos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU dark shit with some dubcon? For anon on tumblr.

“No, you don’t get a choice.”

Vos blinked before quickly furrowing his browplates, the light in his red optics flashing angrily. He’d been obedient; he’d listened, he’d done as he was told. He’d kept Perceptor alive–kept them *all* alive. And he was even kneeling before the seated Autobot scientist like some… some lowly beggar.

A pet, even.

“It’s this, or nothing at all,” Perceptor stated, cementing his dominance. There’d be no room for arguing. He looked down upon the captive Decepticon with a cold glare and an even chillier frown. Still, he held out the fuel line–offering.

Vos hissed. He glanced at the cube connected to the pump–mid-grade garbage. But it was, unfortunately, better than nothing. Bitterly, Vos yanked open the small panel on his neck, exposing an input socket.

Perceptor knew Vos was smarter than to attack, but he still hesitated a moment before plugging the pump into the socket. Rubber lining closed tight around the cable, and suction switched on. He couldn’t taste the mid-grade slowly filling his system, but he felt it. His tanks rumbled, equally disappointed. But just before Vos could start shaking, furious and defeated, Perceptor placed a larger hand on top of his head.

Vos winced, shutting an optic. He peered up at the Autobot, confused. Perceptor’s face remained blank of emotion–then his hand started moving. Stroking along the top of his head. Fingers working down ridges and raised points of armor. And, like always, Vos was soon relaxing, his frame settling. Then Perceptor found *that spot*, and Vos’s optics flickered, hooded. His engine rumbled, something akin to a purr maybe, and he went limp. The mid-grade continued flowing.

Perceptor had tamed the beast, so to speak, but even now the tension in his own actuators were beginning to settle.


	7. IDW: Perceptor/Quark/Brainstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU shenanigans. Relatively SFW. For robo-hunter-chaim on tumblr.

“Ow!”

Brainstorm never looked so terrified in his life; he sat back, hands flying up in the air, optics wide with concern. “What’d I break?” he swallowed.

Quark exvented, touching the sore cable along his neck. “Nothing. It’s just very stiff,” he explained. He suddenly went tense as Perceptor stretched out his leg, applying pressure to his knee. “Nnn, nevermind, everything’s stiff.”

Brainstorm leaned forward, Quark’s head still on his lap. “Poor little Quark,” he swooned, gently kneading his fingers into his partner’s neck cables, “spent aaaall day doing sewage treatment. You got all dirty. Gunk and waste do not suit your frame, I must say.”

Quark glared up at Brainstorm from over his glasses. “And who’s fault was that?” he grumbled. He winced at a certain touch, but settled quickly.

“Remind me to properly reprimand you later, Brainstorm,” Perceptor said, his face blank. He focused on the task at hand, alternating between massaging boot and knee seams.

Brainstorm had a feeling this would not be a sexy punishment. “I’ll take the fall next time, okay?” he offered, kneading his palms into Quark’s shoulders in circular motions.

“For the both of us?” Perceptor asked, looking up, browplate quirked.

Brainstorm flinched. “… Fine,” he exvented, “for the both of you.”

“Let’s hope neither of us ‘accidentally’ spill any corrosive chemicals on the lab floor tomorrow,” Quark said, a mischievous glow in his optics.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Quark chuckled, sinking into his partners’ hands. “Depends on how good this massage ends,” he said.

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up an inch. “Well,” he snickered, “if that’s not an invitation, then I’m not the most smartest Autobot in the universe.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You’re not.”

Brainstorm whined. “You’re both ganging up on me,” he said, running his hands up Quark’s head, rubbing his temples, “the rules say no ganging up unless it’s the other type of ganging up.”

Perceptor slowly bent Quark’s leg, pushing it down against his torso. “No one’s ganging up on you, Brainstorm,” he said. “Invent.” Quark did, and Perceptor thrust down on the leg with his entire weight. A joint popped and Quark gasped; the red Autobot sat back, unfolding his leg. “How does that feel?”

“N-Nice,” Quark said, touching his hip. “I didn’t know you were a masseur, Perceptor.”

“My effleurage and petrissage could use some work…”

“Do me next,” Brainstorm insisted, rubbing under Quark’s jaw, “I wanna pop, too.”

“Roll over,” Perceptor ordered, patting Quark’s inner thigh.

Brainstorm sat back, helping Quark up and onto his stomach. Now his face was planted right in his crotch. “Now THAT’S–”

“No,” both microscopes said in unison, one more muffled than the other.


	8. IDW: Sentinel/Proteus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horrible short daddy kink ficlet for the nasty anon.

“I like to think I’ve been a very good boy, daddy.”

Proteus smirked, bracing his hands on Sentinel’s parted thighs. “I’ve done everything daddy said I had to do, and I was on my best behavior aaaall day,” he said in a playful, almost immature voice. He dragged one finger up the length of Sentinel’s unit. “And daddy promised me a nice treat if I was good. But…”

The senator turned, easing into Sentinel’s lap just slightly, the unit pressed against his back between a fold of armor and dermal plating. “I don’t mean to be a tattletale, but daddy was naughty today. That makes me sooo mad! I don’t like it when daddy makes me mad, ‘cause then I gotta be the big meanie, you know?”

Sentinel bit down on the gag in his mouth, his arms and fists straining in the metal bindings tying him down to the chair.

Proteus rocked, moving the unit against his warm plating. He gazed back over his shoulder at Sentinel, optics lidded, smiling coyly. “Daddy’s gonna get a nice, big spanking,” he purred.


	9. IDW: Sentinel/Proteus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon wanted Sentinel getting a boner from Proteus's fear. Kinda awful here yeeeeea.

Even for Sentinel, this isn’t right. He knows that–but he can’t deny his body’s reaction, despite the fact his CPU is telling him to knock it off.

Proteus is shaking, optics wide–absolutely terrified and completely helpless. But Sentinel is here to keep him safe, to shield him from the blasts. And as he holed the senator up in a safe, albeit cramped room, waiting for reinforcements to arrive, the last thing he wanted as he bent over Proteus, shivering and hiccuping, was a Goddamn erection.

But it was happening. He could feel his unit pressurize, pushing painfully against his panel. Demanding to be released and acknowledged. Sentinel couldn’t stop staring; Proteus hadn’t noticed, however, nor picked up the sudden heat spike in his bodyguard’s EM field. He was too busy curling in on himself, muttering away, fingers clenched into shaky little fists.

This wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t suppose to be. Sentinel found Proteus attractive for many reasons, none of which should involve… this. Proteus was sharp and wicked in all the right ways, so why would Sentinel find him wibbling and petrified so arousing?

“Back up’s almost here,” Sentinel stated. He meant to comfort Proteus, but in actuality it was to get the senator’s attention, to have him finally raise his head from his knees and look Sentinel in the eye just so the larger bot could get a nice, good look of the horrified expression on his face.

Fuckfuckfuck this.

“I… I…” It’s cute (no, it’s not) how Proteus fumbles to speak, try to anchor himself back to reality. His large optics dart back and forth, the apertures little pin-pricks of white.

Sentinel invented. He both realizes and doesn’t that one of his hands is moving up Proteus’s quivering thighs. Proteus either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He moves in closer to his bodyguard, as if he were attempting to crawl inside of Sentinel like a suit of armor. Sentinel scowls and raises the hand on Proteus’s thigh; he places it on the senator’s back, feeling his frame tremble, the hum of his engine.

Good Lord, his unit is so damn needy. Sentinel grit his teeth–he is going to kill so many people when this is over with.


	10. IDW: Brainstorm/Quark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt: "PILLOW FIGHT!"

“Pillow fight!”

Quark sat up on the berth, lowering his datazine. “What the Hell is a ‘pil–’ oh!” He squealed, Brainstorm suddenly on top of him, pinning him down by the chest with a huge fluffy object covered in soft fabric. “Brainstorm! What are you doing!?” His hands recoiled from the pillow in disgust. “What is this thing?”

“It’s a pillow,” Brainstorm said, picking the object up and bopping Quark’s shoulder with it. “You use it to fight.” He smacked his chest. “Hence, pillow fight.” Then slapped Quark right in the face with the large blue pillow.

Quark flailed before shoving it off. “Stop it!” he snarled. “I don’t want to pillow fight with you! I’m not even armed!”

Brainstorm removed a much smaller, rounder pillow from his fuselage and dropped it on Quark’s chest.

“Bloody ridiculous!” But Quark quickly rolled away before he could get hit. He snatched up the pillow, and bashed Brainstorm upside the head, hard enough to dislodge his maskplate and send it flying across the room. Quark widened his optics, glasses sinking. “Oh, I–I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–”

Brainstorm smacked Quark in the face again, knocking him onto the ground. He straddled his hips and continued beating him over the head repeatedly.

“Knock it off, you little–!” Quark finally managed to grab the pillow and yank it from Brainstorm’s hands. It threw it out of reach. “What’s wrong with you?”

Brainstorm laughed breathlessly, fans cycling. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to start a fight,” he explained, smiling sweetly.

Quark rolled his optics.

“I was hoping to frag you on them.”

Quark shoved Brainstorm off his lap.

“But they’re so soft!”

The smaller bot grabbed his nearby pillow.

“They’d feel so good under–”

And Quark shoved the pillow right into the flier’s mouth before marching off.

Brainstorm was left alone, to wonder where he’d gone wrong? He exvented, pillow still hanging from his mouth. He even bought Quark panties to “pillow fight” in, too…


	11. IDW: Perceptor/Quark/Brainstorm/Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More AU fun times. For robo-hunter-chaim.

“I’m dying.”

Brainstorm flopped back on the floor, beside Drift still blindfolded but no longer gagged. They were venting, shaking, loose straps hanging from around Brainstorm’s wrists. The flier smiled drunkenly, his optics hazy and dim.

“No,” Brainstorm croaked, “I’m just dead.”

Quark stood up straight, poised sharply. He rest the edge of the overworked riding crop to his ankle, looking upon the two shaking messes with a cold glower. It didn’t last long, however.

“Very good.”

Quark visibly relaxed, shoulders sagging. He invented.

“Much better than I had originally hypothesized.”

Quark looked up at Perceptor, his once frosty eyes big and desperate for reinforcement. “I didn’t go overboard?” he asked. For a moment during their game, he worried he had lost control.

Perceptor walked around Quark, coming to stand at his side. He place one hand behind his back (always astute), the other on Quark’s shoulder. It felt like a weight, but also very warm. Perceptor studied Drift and Brainstorm–the former shaking, the latter still trying to collect his swimming head.

“No,” Perceptor said, and there it was–the slight twitch of his mouth, suggesting a smile, “you were just fine.”

Quark’s spark swelled with happiness and relief. He couldn’t help but lean into Perceptor’s hand, earning a small pat on the head in return.


	12. IDW: Sentinel/Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…” IDW Sentinel Prime / IDW Mirage 
> 
> For anon. Dubcon-ish.

Sentinel Prime looked absolutely terrifying in his silent rage. And, at the same time, completely, ridiculously arousing.

Though the Prime remained quiet, Mirage knew he was boiling in his fury, keeping all that anger pent up until… Well, the spy really wasn’t in the mood to find out.

So diffuse the situation.

“Now,” Mirage hummed, using that silky voice no bot (not even the seemingly cold, ruthless Sentinel) could resist, “before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”

Sentinel did not react, not even a twitch or a swing of his fist, as the blue and white Cybertronian slid easily, almost fearlessly into his lap. But Sentinel knew–despite the leer on Mirage’s face, the pulsating ripples in his field, the way he ran his hands down the Prime’s massive chest to drop and grip his thighs…

Mirage was still scared.

This wasn’t the first time Mirage had tested these waters. He knew just because he’d survived wading through the shark pit before didn’t mean he was safe for future dips. But so far, so good; Sentinel hadn’t rebuked his touches, hadn’t shoved him off his lap, hadn’t pinned him to the floor with the cold barrel of his gun.

Yet.

Mirage slid up one of Sentinel’s thick legs, grinding up against the much larger frame. “Just one question before I begin my apology,” he purred, tracing a finger over a closed interface panel, “do you want me to explain in words, or put my mouth to better use instead?”

Mirage winced, his spark stopping for a split second. With the speed of a cobra strike, Sentinel reached out, grabbing him by the throat. He squeezed, and Mirage muffled a small cry. Mirage settled, did not fight or struggle, did not break eye contact. Even as the metal of his gorget squeaked.

Sentinel, after a moment of tense silence, leaned in, brushing his lips just barely against the shaking spy’s mouth. “You’ve already failed me once today,” he growled, still managing to restrain the hurricane thrashing inside of him, “I hope you don’t disappoint a second time.”

Mirage grinned crookedly. “Y-Yes, sir,” he said huskily, and happily took Sentinel’s rough kiss.


	13. IDW: Proteus/Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s only one night, we’ll just share the bed.” IDW Proteus / IDW Mirage
> 
> For anon.

Mirage looked annoyed. “It’s only one night,” he grumbled, “we’ll just share the bed.”

Proteus sneered, pouring himself a cube of engex. He turned to Mirage standing across the room. “What? You really think I’d lie down with someone like you,” he said.

Mirage huffed. “Why, dear senator– You know I wasn’t suggesting anything sexual. You really must get your deviant little CPU out of the gutter. It’s very unbecoming of a politician.”

“If a politician isn’t even a little bit dirty, they’re not a politician,” Proteus countered, “and any so-called government figure or service agent who claims to be innocent and clean is just spewing trash and filth.”

Mirage crawled onto the berth. After finishing his cube, Proteus joined him. The two laid out on their sides, facing one another, a little bit too close despite all the extra room on the wide slab.

“But why would you complain?” Proteus snorted. “You make a living sticking your nose in other people’s dirty laundry.”

Panels clicked, hands wandered between them, finding sensitive equipment and cables. Proteus exvented, closing his optics.

Mirage’s smile quivered. “And you are, by far, the most disgusting of them all, senator.”

The two fell silent, glaring at one another, still fondling cables. Then, slowly, Proteus grinned, and Mirage laughed.

“If only your second shadow was here to join us…” Mirage purred, leaning in to kiss the senator.

Proteus broke the short kiss. “Just you tonight, I’m afraid,” he said, pinching something, and Mirage yelped. Proteus grabbed him firmly by the chin, yanking the spy face to face. “So try not to bore me too much.”


	14. IDW/G1: Skylynx/Metroplex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 66\. “The only thing I want is you.” Sky lynx + tripticon (or metroplex) 
> 
> For anon.

Skylynx purred, nuzzling the top of his head beneath Metroplex’s chin. “I must say,” he groaned, cables dangling between him and the Cityformer, “I find your technique rather naive, but quite admirable. I’ve certainly had much better, but I have no complaints. It is all rather nice–and, if I must say, a little overwhelming. Which is unusual–I am hardly impressed by much, if anything. But you, sir… I dare say, despite all your clumsiness, you’re quite the char–”

Metroplex placed his large hand on Skylynx, running fingers up and down his wings. The flier groaned, shuddering.

(Talk too much.)

Skylynx tittered. A finger slid beneath him, stroking the base of his tail. “Careful, now,” he said, “you don’t want to ruin the moo-–ahh! W-Well. That… hmm. That certainly helped, yes. Very good. Ku-kudos, s… sir.”

(Feels good?)

“Yes, of course. Must I repeat–nnn! Ah, harder, um… if you, if you please… and thank–ahhh, M-Metroplex!” Skylynx writhed, energon slick along his blue undercarriage. “Mmm–more, more! Ah, more, Metroplex!”

The giant Cityformer rumbled and shook. He was chuckling.

Skylynx whimpered. He nipped at giant throat cables. “W-What can I do? H-How may I pleasure you?”

(The only thing I want is you.)

Skylynx’s optical band lit up. “H-How sentimentally silly…”


	15. G1: Inferno/Red Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW nerds for anon on tumblr.

Inferno had been in the middle of relaxing on his shift break, eating a snack in the mess hall. That was when Red Alert showed up, uncharacteristically out of his office when they both knew the security bot had another hour ‘til his own break, marched across the cafeteria, and slammed his hands down on the table in front of Inferno. Hard enough to knock his energon cube over.

Inferno looked up at Red, then back at his cube, blinking.

“Uh–”

“I want you,” Red Alert practically growled, optics narrowing, “and I know you want me, too.”

Inferno blinked twice more. “… Uh.”

Red Alert swiftly removed a handful of datapads from subspace, dropping them on top of the spilled energon. “This is all the evidence I’ve gathered that proves, without a doubt, that you are attracted to me.” He poked the top datapad. “Air-tight. Undeniable. Irrefutable. All observations alongside facts double-checked with accounts and interviews with fellow colleagues and teammates.”

Inferno stared. “… Red, I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks were warm. “I-I dunno what t'say…” Then, he laughed, shrugging. “Ya got me! I am attracted t'ya, an’ yeah–I do want you, too.”

Red Alert’s domineering, insistent expression suddenly changed into complete and utter surprise. “You… you do?” he half-whispered, optics turning bright and sirens lighting up.

Inferno blinked for the fourth time. He burst out cackling suddenly, causing Red Alert to jump and nearly go for his gun. Inferno jumped to his feet, throwing his arms around the smaller bot, practically pulling him over the table. Red Alert squeaked, but did not fight back.

“Aw, Red, Red, Red,” Inferno snickered, rubbing a siren, “yer so damn cute.”

Red Alert made a flustered noise and Inferno continued laughing.


	16. G1: Inferno/Red Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More semi-SFW nerds for anon.

“I bet I can make you scream my name.”

Red Alert blinked, going still on the berth. He stared up at Inferno laying on top of him, grinning mischievously. That grin twitched at Red Alert’s perplexed expression.

“… Why would you do that?” Red Alert asked, squinting. “The walls are soundproof. And if anyone were to hear us, they would assume you or I or the both of us were in some sort of trouble.”

“Er,” Inferno rubbed the back of his head, “that’s not… Well, I dinnit mean it *that* way…”

Red Alert propped himself up on an elbow. “Are you–Did I ruin the mood?”

“No!” Inferno exclaimed, and clung to the smaller bot. “No, yer–ya dinnit ruin anythin’!”

Red Alert’s optics flashed with sudden shame. “… I’m missing some sort of special cue, aren’t I? It’s suppose to be sexual, isn’t it?”

Inferno chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what I mean when I… Well, actually, lemme just– You lay back down, okay? Lemme just… show… you…”

Red Alert was still a little confused, but laid back and let Inferno continue.

And it wasn’t very long, actually, until things got much heavier, and much hotter. Strangely enough, it felt different from the previous times they’d interfaced. Inferno never used his hose-hand for *that*. But the moment he did, and with juuust the right amount of pressure and even a little squirt of fire suppression foam–

Red Alert not only screamed his name, but he screamed Vector Sigma and Primus’s as well. Also, the colorful obscenities were a surprise, yet fairly encouraging, given their context. Inferno chalked that up as a bonus.


	17. G1: Inferno/Red Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack SFW stuff for that-lambo-though-nomnom on tumblr.

It was cute, and Inferno seriously debated not saying anything. Enjoy the view a while longer until Red Alert saw it himself.

The little purple paint smudge on Red’s cheek was due to a prank on part of the twins. Paint the ceiling, a bit dripped down, fell on the security officer’s cheek without him noticing. Red was busy, in the middle of a lecture with his partner, and when he divulged into his work, the outside world became a total blur sometimes.

So as they walked, Red still lecturing, Inferno repressing his giggles and coos… Finally, Inferno could no longer hold it in. “R-Red, stop, wait,” he chuckled, placing a hand on the officer’s shoulder.

Red’s jaw snapped shut. He looked peeved at being interrupted. “What is it, Inferno?” he demanded dryly.

Inferno pointed at Red’s paint-smudged cheek. “You’ve got somethin’ on your cheek there, bud–”

But before Inferno could even finish, Red Alert had recoiled, hands up in the air, clawing at his face, but not quite touching it. His sirens blazed loudly, flaring bright. “What is it what is it what is it what is it!?” he cried, optics darting down then up then back and forth. “Should I move should I stay still oh my God does it have a timer I think I can hear it ticking it’s ticking Inferno!”

Inferno could only stare, wide-eyed.

“Don’t just–do something! Get help!” Red Alert squawked. “Hurry, before–!”

Then Inferno walked over, so casual, leaned down, and kissed him on the cheek. Red was already so stiff, it was amazing he could manage get even more stonier. Inferno stepped back, his lips smeared in purple paint. Red Alert immediately understood. “Purple’s kinda cute on you,” he chuckled.

Red Alert recomposed himself. After washing off his cheek in complete silence, he asked, poised and eerily calm, where the twins were.

Now it was Inferno’s turn to panic.


	18. IDW: Sentinel/Proteus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you drunk?" for anon.

It wasn’t unusual for Proteus to giggle during sex. Sentinel was too ashamed to admit it even turned him on a little. Even when Proteus was acting innocuous, there was always something… sensually sinister about it.

So, while laughing as they interfaced was nothing new, tonight it felt a bit off. Because giggles and chortles and smirks were all very common, but this was different. As Sentinel fucked Proteus over his own desk, thrusting inside the Senator with something almost furious, grabbing his hips so tight they could easily crush metal–Proteus was cackling.

Straight up cackling. Villainous, actually. It was jarring enough that Sentinel completely froze, resting himself fully seated inside Proteus. His grip on Proteus’s hips loosened as he poured over his back, minding armor and turbine. The smaller mech was still laughing–snickering, now–as if he hadn’t realized Sentinel had stopped.

“What is it?” Sentinel grumbled, irritated. Honestly, this was less sexy and coy than it was annoying and mood-killing.

Proteus shook his head, chortling into the back of his hand. “I-It’s nothing,” he said.

Sentinel narrowed his optics suspiciously. He eyed the smaller bot, his frame slightly rattling from the laughter he was holding in. “Are you drunk?” he asked, finally, and that had Proteus bursting into a fit of loud giggles. Sentinel was surprised he hadn’t gone flaccid right then and there. Now he was somewhat offended.

Proteus calmed himself, pushing upright and against Sentinel’s chest. “It’s nothing, nothing,” he said, sliding his hand between his legs. “I’m just in a really good mood, darling.” Fingers lightly caressed the inch or two of Sentinel’s exposed unit. The Prime twitched. “Come on, now.” Proteus dragged his fingers back down, along his slick thighs, wet with lubricant. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“You’re acting strange,” Sentinel grumbled. Though he was getting kind of sore, and started moving again.

Proteus grunted, swaying back and forth, grinding his hips against Sentinel’s groin and spreading himself wider. He glanced back over his shoulder, optics smoky and lidded, watching Sentinel pound inside his channel, watching his waist as it rolled. “I-If you m-must know,” he swallowed dryly, “I was j-just thinking about t-today’s meet–ah!–meeting.” Proteus cracked a smile, chuckling. “When Shockwave c-called you out, the face y-you made was s-so priceless, even I c-couldn’t–”

“Don’t mock me, Proteus,” Sentinel growled, hefting the Senator right off the desk and into his arms, holding him up as he continued ruthlessly thrusting. Proteus threw his head back with a cry, inventing sharply.

“N-No, of course n-not,” Proteus wheezed, smiling drunkenly at that aforementioned hilarious face burned into his memories, “I w-would never dream o-of it.”


	19. IDW: Sentinel/Proteus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never killed anyone before.” for anon; dark, little bit of gore, NSFW

Sentinel was shocked. And utterly aroused. Wide-eyed and hot-framed, he stared at Proteus in semi-horror.

The Senator stood before the collapsed, crumpled body, a smoking hole blown through their head–or what remained of it. Proteus slowly lowered the gun, silent and mostly still.

Sentinel blinked, forcing himself to focus. “You… Are you all right, Proteus?” he asked. He slowly approached the mech, reaching out cautiously.

Proteus raised his head, and Sentinel halted. “I…” Proteus trailed off. The gun in his hand was shaking. “I’ve never… killed anyone before…” he whispered.

They both knew that was bullshit. And they both knew what Proteus really meant. He’d sent many bots–both guilty and innocent–to their executions. He’d just never dropped the guillotine blade himself. This, however–this was direct. His hands were now visibly bloodied and dirtied. Literally, too; as Proteus slowly turned around, Sentinel could see vibrant purple energon splattered across his chest, streaking his face.

Sentinel did not expect to see that mad twinkle in Proteus’s optics, however, or the equally disturbing grin.

“It was… incredible!” Proteus gasped, instantly loosening and staggering back. Sentinel quickly caught him before he could fall; Proteus laughed, loudly, dropping the gun at his feet. He touched his face, drew his hand back when he felt the wet sensation. At the sight of energon, Proteus was nearly howling. “This is–!”

Sentinel had been aroused, sure, but he loved carnage. Surrounded himself in it. Proteus was more of a vulture; he never really sunk his teeth into anyone before. He’d never know the adrenaline rush that came with snuffing a spark. Sentinel supposed he was sick and twisted, but it was good to know he wasn’t alone. Because a second later, Proteus was throwing himself against Sentinel, pinning him back against the wall and kissing him harder than ever before.

The confusion wore off, as did the shock, and Sentinel immediately grabbed the Senator, pulling him in closer. The kiss wore off quickly as well; Proteus stood back, his panels unlocked and parted. He took one of Sentinel’s large hands, forcing it between his legs, and Sentinel felt heat rush up his backstrut at how wet and engorged Proteus was.

“Before we run, before anyone catches us,” Proteus panted, his optics bright and glowing fiercely. He started rutting into the hand, guiding a finger inside and gasping. “Hurry!”

Couldn’t really refuse that. Sentinel shoved in a second finger, starting pumping vigorously inside Proteus’s channel. Too rough for some, but for Proteus, it was perfect. The Senator whimpered, latching onto Sentinel’s arm, bucking and grinding his hips into his hand. “Y-Yes, yes, yes!” Proteus cried, panting and drooling.

Sentinel winced at his own hardness, lubricant seeping from the seams of his codpiece. Later. This was Proteus’s time to shine. Good job on your first direct homicide. A hard finger-fuck was as good a prize as any trophy or medal.

Proteus moaned and whimpered around the wet noises of those fingers sliding in and out in and out in and out of his channel.

Sentinel sent a private comm-link transmission to his lackeys. Keep the area closed off, let nobody in. This was gonna take more than a few minutes.


	20. IDW: Sentinel/Proteus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can we go someplace high so I can jump off it?” for anon

“Proteus.”

Proteus stopped scanning the file he was reading, looking over to Sentinel. The Prime was brooding in a dark corner, glaring blankly out the window overlooking Vos.

“Yes?”

“Can we go someplace high so I can jump off of it?”

Proteus stared a moment, then chuckled. “You’re not still embarrassed, are you?” he asked. He sat the file down, standing from the desk. “It really wasn’t that bad.”

“I hate speeches,” Sentinel growled, clenching his fists, “I hate being interrupted.”

“Never you mind that imbecile,” Proteus reassured, approaching his superior, “he won’t be sitting pretty in the brig for very long. I’ve already spoken to my benefactors about the proper punishment.” He waited for a response, maybe even a “thank you,” but Sentinel remained sulking. Proteus sighed, stepping around and in front of the Prime. Sentinel turned his wet-blanket of a glare down at him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I know it might make you feel worse… but you’re really kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Sentinel scowled. Right, didn’t help. Proteus smirked. “But…” He started down on one knee, and Sentinel’s shoulders visibly jumped. Proteus ran his hands down Sentinel’s codpiece, smiling wickedly up at him. “I think I know how to cheer you up…”

Sentinel snorted. “You can certainly try.” It really wasn’t fair how much power Proteus had over him. He just needed to kneel and smile and Sentinel was completely wet and hard. Panels shifted, his unit pressurizing.

Proteus chuckled, taking the erection and gently kissing the head, before stroking his cheek tenderly against the long shaft. “I guarantee you’ll feel all better once I’m done,” he promised, running a finger along Sentinel’s channel folds.

Proteus was nothing short of a miracle worker. Ten minutes later, Sentinel was stretched out on the floor, panting and overheated as Proteus laid between his spread legs. His cheeks completely hollowed as he took the Prime’s unit in his mouth, deep down his throat and past his expertly trained intakes. Two of his fingers alternated between thrusting inside Sentinel’s channel to rubbing his anterior node, causing him to buck and jump, pushing himself even further down the Senator’s warm throat.

Proteus sat back, taking the unit with his free hand. He licked gingerly at the head and slit, swirling his tongue around it. Kissed along the thick shaft, down to the base then back up. Wrapped his lips delicately around the head and in an amazing sight to behold, slowly took more and more before the entire unit was in his mouth again. A finger drew heavy circles against Sentinel’s ceiling node with each inch he passed.

Sentinel felt his cheekplates burn, the rest of his body blazing as his fans went into overdrive to cool him down.

Proteus sucked the unit in heavy, wet strokes, his aft bouncing in the air as he went, before letting go; he withdrew his lips around the head with an audible pop.

“You know,” Proteus purred, pressing the unit against his cheek. He started lazily stroking it in a loose grip, optics locked with the Prime’s. “Your comment about jumping from a high place got me thinking… Have you ever interfaced mid-flight before?”

And that was just enough to send Sentinel into overload.


	21. IDW: Sentinel/Proteus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Everything was fine, until you showed up.” for anon

Sentinel pulled Proteus out of the interrogation room, slamming the door behind them. From the one-sided mirror, they could see the perp still angrily beating his fists on the table he was cuffed to. Two guards came rushing in, calming him down with a few electric prods to the side.

“Are you insane!?” Sentinel snarled, nearly throwing Proteus against the wall.

Proteus recomposed himself, bitterly glowering. “Everything was fine,” he bristled, “until you showed up.”

“You’re smarter than this,” Sentinel spat, “you’re risking implication–”

“I know what I’m doing, Sentinel!” Proteus snapped. “I had him–he was just about to squeal when you barged in like some clumsy boar!”

“Don’t be an idiot!”

“You watch your damn tongue,” Proteus hissed, marching up to Sentinel. He jabbed a finger against his chest. “You’re not Prime yet, Sentinel, and if you keep mouthing off to me, I’ll make sure you’re dirt before you ever get your oafish hands on the Matrix.”

Sentinel’s armor clamped down against his frame, his fists shaking at his sides. If this were any other bot, he would have pounded them into the ground, turned them into a pile of scrap metal. Proteus was his superior, yes, but that didn’t mean he was going to be threatened.

Sentinel closed the space between him and the Senator, and for a moment, it appeared as if they were going to fight. Daring the other to make the first move; Proteus could decimate an entire city with his silver-tongue, but he was overpowered and out-gunned against Sentinel. They both knew it.

Then, one corner of Proteus’s frown twitched upright.

“Well, it seems we’re both a little reckless, now aren’t we?” Proteus chuckled. Sentinel eyed him, feigning ignorance. “I know that look. I know those shifts in your field.” He breathed against Sentinel’s chest. “Why, Sentinel. Right here, right now? How irresponsible.”

Sentinel grabbed Proteus by the wrist, squeezing tightly. “You said we’re both reckless,” he growled.

Proteus smirked. “True. So we should both be quick about it.”

And to the backdrop of the captured mech getting brutally beaten by two guards twice his size, Sentinel and Proteus released their pressurized units, each wrapping a hand around both. Sentinel top, and Proteus bottom. They lunged forward, kissing sloppily as they started frotting in each others hands, grinding their units together. Not even the blood-curdling scream of the pleading prep in the other room could distract them, Proteus’s thumb grinding into Sentinel’s slit, drawing out a low moan to cover the bothersome white noise.

“B-Better,” Proteus whispered hoarsely against Sentinel’s mouth.

Dark energon splattered across the mirror, dimming the light projected in their room. “Much better,” Sentinel crooned, and kissed him again.


	22. IDW: Brainstorm/Quark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Could you be any louder?” for cresnoir

Quark was just getting into the full swing of things when Brainstorm suddenly, without warning, keened so loud it snapped Quark out of focus and stopped him all together. His optics popped open, and he glanced down at Brainstorm, the flier heaving between his legs and on his back, Quark still pressed inside his channel.

“Could you be any louder?” Quark scowled. “The neighbors across the street will hear you!”

Brainstorm panted heavily, optics flashing. “S-Sorry,” he murmured. He reached up, pinching Quark’s cheeks and tilting his glasses. “But y-you’re just s-so good, baby.”

Quark grunted, face burning. “D-Don’t call me that,” he said. He took Brainstorm’s hips, went back to thrusting inside his partner’s wet, warm channel. And Brainstorm was doing pretty good again, silencing himself by chewing on his bottom lip and clutching uselessly at the wall. One wing flinched, knocking over a lamp on the night stand.

Nothing that distracted Quark–not until Brainstorm let out a high-pitched squeal.

Quark sat back, pulling himself free of the flier. “No,” he growled, scrambling angrily off the berth, fluid cutting down his thighs. Brainstorm stared at him, confused and dazed. “No,” Quark said again, opening a desk drawer and digging inside. He removed something, then came back to the slab. “No no no.”

Brainstorm stared at the round object in Quark’s hands. “What is–”

“No more,” Quark interjected, thrusting the stress ball inside Brainstorm’s mouth. He wedged it in deep enough, around the flier’s surprised whine. Brainstorm settled quickly, his amused chuckle muffled. “That should do it.” Quark pushed one of Brainstorm’s legs aside, lined his throbbing unit with his channel opening and slowly pushed inside.

Brainstormed arched off the bed with what might have been a very loud groan, now quieted by the makeshift gag.

Quark sighed with relief. Yes, much better. He started back into his previous rhythm, rolling and snapping his hips with each hard grind. That didn’t last long, either. He’d barely heard the wet pop of Brainstorm removing his gag before a hand touched his cheek. Quark stopped, looked up, and was unceremoniously dragged closer, his chestplate rubbing against Brainstorm’s overheated fuselage.

“Better yet,” Brainstorm breathed, coolant dribbling at the corners of his mouth. He threw his legs around Quark’s hips, riding down into the unit. Quark’s gasp was caught in Brainstorm’s mouth as he was pulled into a hard kiss. It took him a few seconds to compute what was happening, but Quark closed his optics, clenched Brainstorm’s shoulders, and caught up pace.

Yes, much, much better.


	23. IDW: Fortress Maximus/Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.“ for anon; drug use warning

They’d met quite by accident at a seedy bar in downtown Kaon.

It was unusual for someone so fancy and high class like Mirage to frequent a pub like this. But that was a long time ago–all the glitz and glamour was gone. The war took most of his profits, and most of his reputation. Still, Mirage would never lose the title of “the rich snob forced to finally get his hands dirty.”

Fortress Maximus didn’t mind so much. He’d like to feel bad for Mirage, but he didn’t. Shit happens. Maximus wasn’t one to compare battle wounds and victory scars, either. He knew he’d had it worse than Mirage, but he’d never make a show of it.

Tonight, they were just two former colleagues sharing a bar tab and talking about days of old. They couldn’t escape the war–it would follow them like a shadow. If they weren’t living it, they were talking about it, thinking about it. It was fine at first, just reminiscing, finding comfort in the adversity they each burdened… but it got tiresome quickly.

Mirage suggested something else. A change of topic. A way to ease the mind for a bit. Maximus was hesitant; drugs were never his kick, even when his PTSD was at the worst. Mirage said it was more so an aphrodisiac than anything too mind-altering. It would make the interfacing they’d silently agreed upon in the alley behind the bar a lot more fun. Mirage took the first dose as a show of trust, though that didn’t change anything.

“It’s safe, I promise. I wouldn’t put anything nasty or viral in my body by choice.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“Heh.”

Soon enough, however, Maximus shrugged and took one of the patches. Why not? If it ended up triggering another episode, they could easily call an ambulance. They were in public, after all. This was all foolish, stupid thinking, but it was also numbing and self-defeating. Felt kind of warm, not giving a flying fuck.

The aphrodisiac, fortunately, had no ill side effects. It did its job with no extra bonus.

Maximus pinned Mirage to the wall, digging one large finger inside the smaller bot’s channel, already wet and pliant from the drug’s effects. Maximus pressed his unit inside Mirage–just enough without hurting too much–and it felt like heaven. Like sinking into warm waters. His optics rolled back and he held Mirage’s hips loosely as he fucked into him earnestly, if not a bit languidly. Mirage was groaning, obviously enjoying it as well; he wiggled his aft back on the unit, taking a few more inches before finally settling. They met half-way in sways, armor bumping against armor.

Mirage pulled out suddenly, turning to push at Maximus’s chest. He went down like a bag of bricks. Mirage hopped right back on his unit, leaning forward while reaching back and digging four thin fingers inside Maximus’s dripping channel. Maximus hissed, chewing his bottom lip, grabbing at the smaller bot for purchase. Mirage broke the space between them, sealing their mouths in a wet, soppy, clumsy kiss that only lasted a second or two.

Maximus came first, transfluid filling Mirage’s tanks. Mirage took a few minutes longer, bouncing desperately on Maximus’s lap until his climax finally poured free, spilling out across Maximus’s chest.

Soon the drugs would wear off and reality would return. They sat in the alley and held one another until then, however. Like the haze in their minds, nothing mattered right now but this relaxing stupor.


	24. TFP: Megatron/Starscream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.” for anon; some violence but consensual

“I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.”

Starscream had been ordered not to meddle, but due to his insubordination, he had gotten a lead on the Autobot’s secret bunker. This both infuriated and impressed Megatron. Reminding him why he chose Starscream as his second in command while also wishing he’d just thrown the little shit in the scrapper a long time ago.

Starscream, with his shit eating grin and subservient posture, said quietly, “May I suggest the former, Master?”

“Or,” Megatron growled, turning to face the Seeker, “why not both?”

Both was better than one, Starscream supposed. Plus, he had to admit, it was kind of fun. These were times when he knew Megatron’s violence wasn’t going to end up with him dead. And they were the only times Starscream could actually retaliate. It sent Megatron reeling with lust when Starscream would pounce on him, digging his claws into the seams around his neck. Penetrating deeper until he tore at circuitry. The Seeker would reach back and cup his warm codpiece, clicking on it almost tauntingly.

A hand around his throat momentarily horrified Starscream, and he clenched up, waiting for a beating. Then he was on the ground, larger talons raking down his body, denting and scraping away paint, and Starscream growled, throwing his head back as he tried not to let the desperate whimpers escape. His own codpiece was practically ripped off (minor repairs he could handle without the annoying quack), and Megatron smirked at just how wet and aroused he was.

“Pathetic,” Megatron said, thrusting a finger inside Starscream’s channel, and the Seeker squealed, “but as much as I expected.”

Just enough prepping that it wouldn’t tear anything, but still not good enough. Perfect by their standards, however. Well, mostly Megatron’s. Still, Starscream clung to his master as he rocked his thick unit inside of him, all searing pain and delirious pleasure. He clawed at his back, at any surface, and when they were finished, it would appear like they’d just come back from battle.

Starscream clenched down on Megatron’s unit as he overloaded, his unit depressurizing as it released its load. Megatron was an older model, but he had more stamina than any of them. It took him longer, but it was never boring. And if Starscream seemed bored, a sudden change of position or throttling usually kicked up the adrenaline again.

Starscream was turned onto his hands and knees, jerking back and forth in ragdoll fashion until Megatron finally came. His stomach felt full and hot and even expanded by the transfluid. More cut down his thighs, dripping on the ground.

Megatron pulled out. He sat back, paused, then slapped Starscream upside the head, surprising him. “A slap,” he growled huskily, “for good measure.”


	25. TFP: Ultra Magnus/Starscream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m alive… I can tell because of the pain.” for anon; dark content but consensual

Maybe it had something to do with Megatron. But that was always such a confusing mess. Sex always seemed uncomplicated between them, but it turned out to be far from the truth. *Everything* between them was complicated and baffling and dangerous. Nothing, not even sex, was simple.

There was always so much pain, that Starscream was beginning to think it was pleasure. Pleasure was pain, pain was pleasure. It was horrible, and his mind had been rewired. But not by force–never by force. He played these games with Megatron because he wanted to. Starscream had a choice here, at least.

There was just something so… wonderful about it. Sometimes Starscream wondered why he was even still alive. Wondered if he was even going to survive the rest of the day. But that pain–it was an anchor to reality. Death ended everything. You didn’t feel shit when you finally kicked the bucket. But feeling this pain–oh, he was alive, very much alive, and he was going to *stay* alive.

It got him excited. If he survived this, he could survive anything.

It wasn’t as if Starscream was under any threat now. He was actually quite safe. Among company that hated him, sure, and some even wanted to kill him, yes, but it was nothing like life on the Nemesis. Nothing like working alongside Megatron, the tyrannical lunatic.

Ultra Magnus doesn’t even mean to hurt Starscream. He honestly doesn’t. He can’t stand the guy, but sex isn’t nearly as sacred and holy to their kind as it seemingly is to humans. He bent the Seeker over the table, pinning him down by the back, his second hand grabbing a wing and awkwardly bending it.

Magnus thrust hard inside the Seeker’s channel, feeling mesh walls clench around him. He was sure some were ripped, but Starscream insisted on continuing. Magnus could feel his unit press against the inner walls of Starscream’s abdomen, striking the bottom of his fuselage. Starscream was on his tippy-toes, their sharp edges scraping at the floor as he struggled to hold onto the table. Magnus would yank him back or shove him forward too hard, and he’d lose his grip, tearing his claws in the surface of table. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

Magnus pours himself over the smaller, thinner bot, and metal buckles beneath his weight. Starscream groans and snarls and spits and whimpers. Magnus takes the Seeker’s hard unit in his hooked claw hand, its tip just inches from stabbing the head, and that’s just enough to topple Starscream over the edge and overload.

Magnus comes quickly after, and Starscream howls as his belly fills with transfluid. Dermal plates bulge over his abdomen. Magnus pulls himself free, and Starscream collapses onto his knees, fluid gushing from his twitching channel and puddling on the floor.

“Well…” Starscream sniffed, flicking transfluid off his messied thighs. “I’m alive.”

Magnus cocked an optic ridge.

“I can tell because of the pain.”

“I apologize,” Magnus grunted.

“You shouldn’t,” Starscream leered, “because you weren’t that great anyway.”


	26. TFP: Arcee(/June Darby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For novelty-spark's prompt [here](https://novelty-spark.tumblr.com/post/160287974245/imagine-a-horribly-embarrassed-arcee-off-somewhere). Arcee masturbating to June.

Arcee knew this was wrong, and for a whole lot of reasons.

 

June Darby was her friend, despite how little they may see each other. And, worst of all, she was a human.

 

Everyone had strange kinks and fetishes. Arcee supposed she just got probably the weirdest of them all.

 

Not that it mattered, really, because no one was going to find out.

 

Once the base had been left to Arcee and Ratchet (who would spend all his time watching the monitors and focused on the task at hand), Arcee excused herself for her long awaited break. She’d just need about twenty minutes.

 

Ratchet told her it was fine, mostly brushing her off.

 

Now, in the darkness of her securely locked room with only the light of her vivid blue optics guiding her along, Arcee was safe. No shame, no judgements in here.

 

Arcee invented, her engine rumbling. She stretched back against the wall on her berth, relaxing. Fingers slid between her legs as her eyes closed. She was greeted immediately by a familiar figure standing with their back to her. The lovely dress, the long black hair… Arcee knew who she was immediately.

 

Arcee heard panels clicking open as she watched June Darby turn and greet her with a charming smile and wave. June walked up to Arcee, taking an extended hand and nuzzling her smaller head against the palm. That smile ever so sweet and relaxing.

 

Arcee hummed as two fingers dragged up and down her engorged channel folds. The same way one of her larger fingers was caressing June’s soft red lips, sweeping across her mouth and smearing make-up. June groaned, and so did Arcee as her fingers now pushed inside her.

 

June was stripping out of her dress. That cheerful smile was now a mischievous leer.

 

Arcee gulped loudly. Fingers continued probing and thrusting in shallow rhythms as more articles of clothing fell at June’s feet. The dress, her earrings, flicking those aside; her bra, setting pert, large breasts free and bouncing. The sight of her nipples, the darker areolas.

 

Arcee licked her lips as a finger hooked up, found her anterior node, and started rubbing.

 

June was stretching out on the floor before Arcee. All smiles, all beautiful. She peeled her panties off nice and slow, dropped them. Then, her legs opened-–just a little at first, to tease–-spreading further until she was exposing her wet, twitching pussy.

 

Arcee gasped, bucked into her thrusting fingers and the digit circling her hooded node.

 

“Arcee…” June whispered. The Autobot could see June’s face easily in her half-laying, half-sitting position. But she had Arcee’s rapt attention. June took one finger in her mouth and sucked down slow and hard.

 

Arcee grunted, shivering.

 

A second finger, and her cheeks hollowed out around them. Arcee’s free hand was now tending to her unit, pressurizing and needing to be touched. She grabbed her shaft at the base, working the unit in the same way June worked her fingers in her mouth.

 

Satisfied, June sunk the two wet fingers in her dripping pussy. Thrust them in to her knuckles; both June and Arcee yelped. Arcee swept a finger over her slit, back and forth, drawing out more precum.

 

“Nn, Arcee… please…” June fingered herself, grabbed at one tit and squeezed. She rolled the nipple between her fingers, then pinched and tugged. Proceeded to the second nipple to do the same.

 

Arcee was stroking herself faster now, digits prying and scissoring at the open mesh walls of her channel. “Ah… June…”

 

June whimpered. “Arcee,” she panted, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed, “I’m going to c-come.” Drool trickled from one corner of her mouth. She grabbed a breast, leaning down and flexible enough to easily lick her own nipple over and over again. Two fingers turned to four now, almost equal to Arcee.

 

“Yeah yeah,” Arcee sobbed, tears tracking down her cheekplates, “overload for me, June!”

 

June and Arcee climaxed at the exact same time.

 

Arcee powered down her optics, trembling. Transfluid soaked her hands and formed a puddle on the bed beneath her. She exvented, annoyed at the mess.

 

Then she thought of June. June, flushed and naked, covered in fluids and panting, eyes rolled back in her head. The most satisfied, awed grin on her pretty, pretty face.

 

Arcee was wrong. Messes could be very nice.


	27. RiD: Strongarm/Windblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For avengersemhwasp1 on tumblr: Strongarm, Windblade, and a very special friend. ;)

When it came to thunderstorms, Strongarm was quick to discover Windblade always got a little… frisky. Maybe it was all that lightning, sending electricity fizzling, popping in the atmosphere. The vibrations of the uproarious thunder pounding through the Seeker’s wiry frame. The cool sensation of the rain on her wings. Maybe it was all three, and thensome.

Personally, Strongarm found it a bit too dangerous to be out flying, but it wouldn’t be Windblade if she didn’t take risks.

Perfect timing, too. Strongarm had recently finished one of her side projects. Personal, though Fixit had helped her out a little bit. She commed Windblade, telling the Seeker to meet her at their “usual spot.” It was a cave dug into the mountainside some miles from Denny’s junkyard. High up, from here one got a perfect view of the city and horizon–beautiful sunrises, gorgeous sunsets. It was their special place, unknown to the rest of the team.

Twenty minutes later, Windblade arrived, soaring out through the rumbling thunder clouds. Part showing off, part excitement, she spun circles in the air, transforming and landing in a twirl on her feet inside the cave. Windblade rushed over to Strongarm, wet from the rain and smelling like ozone; her EM field pulsating, optics aglow. She took Strongarm’s face and pulled her into a bruising hard kiss, and Strongarm was all too happy to reciprocate.

Strongarm tore away. “So I was thinking…” She bit her lip, coyly smiling, as she held out the object she’d been working on for almost a month now.

Windblade gasped, wings hiking, at the double-ended dildo, large and neon blue. She grinned all pearly whites at Strongarm. “You know me all too well, sweetspark,” she giggled, tackling the blue-white bot to the ground in another passionate kiss.

Strongarm put the dildo aside for now, rolling up to a sit. The Seeker straddled her lap; they kissed for a few minutes, heavy and sloppy, tongues and teeth and coolant. Thunder grumbled, followed by two streaks of white lightning; Windblade moaned in Strongarm’s mouth, one hand shooting down between them and fondling desperately at the Autobot’s panel. Her own clicked open, drops of lubricant wetting Strongarm’s thigh.

“So impatient,” Strongarm smirked, biting Windblade’s lip.

Windblade dragged her mouth against Strongarm’s. “Need you,” she groaned, licking her way back inside.

Strongarm opened her panel as her own hand reached down, finding Windblade’s channel and pushing, carefully, two fingers inside. The Seeker spasmed around her, her own, thinner fingers stroking Strongarm’s lips before seeking her anterior node. They rocked together, chassis to chassis, moaning and whimpering. Fingers thrusting in deeper, scissoring and spreading. Lubricant soaking their hands.

“Scrap,” Windblade invented, rolling into Strongarm’s fingers. She reached blindly for the vibrator, dragging it over. Breaking the kiss, lips glossy with coolant, she sat back and held up the toy. “So… this–” Windblade stopped, grinned, when Strongarm held up a small remote. “Of course. You do the honors?”

“Love to.”

The two Autobots unfurled from one another, getting into position. Lying as comfortably on their sides as possible. Windblade purred at another growl of thunder outside. The rain was pelting down now, pounding in their audiols. Strongarm reached over, holding up one of Windblade’s legs. They looked at one another; Windblade nodded, preparing herself.

Strongarm slowly pushed the vibrator inside Windblade’s channel, starting at an inch before pausing. Windblade shuddered, optics screwed shut. Strongarm continued working more of the dildo in, until Windblade was squirming and panting, obviously clenching down tight around the toy.

“Good?”

“Great.”

Strongarm wiggled down, spreading her legs. Inventing and holding, she mounted the other end of the dildo, almost choking. She groaned, teeth grit, taking a couple more inches, until there was only a foot or two of the toy left between the Autobots. Windblade stretched her leg in the air, over Strongarm’s, resting heel on her shoulder.

“R-Ready?” Strongarm croaked.

Windblade nodded, chewing her lip.

Strongarm waited a moment, looking at the remote. Another invent, exvent, and she switched it on to its lowest setting. She feared the toy wouldn’t work–worse, might just explode–even though she had tested it on herself on a few occasions just in case. But the vibrator came alive with a loud hum, and instantly the two Autobots melted around it.

Windblade whimpered, throwing her head back. Strongarm clutched at the ground, raking up chunks of dirt and rock. They ground and thrust into the vibrator, open mouth heaving.

Strongarm looked down, feeling a rush of heat up her backstrut–Windblade was furiously fondling her anterior node, her blue optics bright and glimmering.

“F-Frag, skeptibot,” Windblade moaned, wings fluttering.

Strongarm grinned crookedly. “Thought y-you’d like it.”

Strongarm quickly switched the vibrations up without warning. Windblade howled, almost falling over and sliding off the dildo. Strongarm reached down, holding the vibrator in place as she bounced against it. Windblade’s engorged folds swallowed more of the toy, leaking lubricant down her thighs, on the ground. Strongarm, aroused, took another inch, biting back a cry as the vibrations shot through her anterior node.

“Primus, this–s-so good,” Windblade panted, coolant dribbling from the corners of her mouth. Her hooded optics turned to Strongarm, all twisted up and trying not to wail and make a sound. She grinned. “You’re j-just so cute, y-yanno?”

Strongarm’s cheekplates burned. “W-What? No–wha–” Without thinking, she turned the vibrator to its highest setting, and in that moment, both Autobots swore they saw the heralds of Primus.

“Stronga-arm!” Windblade cried, optics starting to roll back into her head. “Primus!”

Strongarm was trying not to go cross-eyed. “Y-Yeah, yeah,” she whimpered and wriggled and jerked on the toy, “Prim-mmm!”

Lightning cut through the sky, momentarily flashing and drowning the inside of the cave in white. “Need t-to feel… feel you,” Windblade whined. She slid further down on the toy–there wasn’t very much left now. Strongarm, whimpering, took the remaining inch, until their channels were pressed together. Strongarm held back her leg, the two grinding and rubbing their folds together, thrusting hard, metal to metal, leaving behind paint transfers.

Slowly, their legs closed around one another, limbs intertwined and groping as they scissored.

“I-I’m gonna over-overload!” Windblade gasped.

Strongarm reached forward. “T-Together.”

Wordlessly, the two slipped their fingers between their channels. Windblade’s long and thin, Strongarm’s thicker and shorter. They found each others anterior nodes, stroking them, body still clapping together, wet and obscene. When Strongarm sensed Windblade’s overload, she pinched her node, distracting her. Giving Strongarm just enough time to finally rub out her own.

The two cried out in unison, legs locking around one another as they overloaded. Squirting transfluid around the toy vibrating wildly inside their fluttering, stuffed channels.

Strongarm picked up the remote, switching the vibrator off. Both bots went limp on the ground, frames heaving and fans blasting. They looked down, smiling at one another, content.

After a few minutes recuperating, Windblade pulled free first, gasping and wiggling off the toy. She sat back, legs slack and hanging open; channel stretched and still leaking lube and transfluid. Strongarm removed the toy, channel walls shivering from the sudden emptiness.

“You know,” Windblade swallowed, “we d-don’t have to wait… for a thunderstorm… to do this.”

“I know,” Strongarm replied. She crawled over to Windblade’s side, sitting. She wrapped an arm around the Seeker’s narrow hips, pulling her closer. “I was j-just waiting for the r-right time.”

Windblade cooed, snuggling up against the bulky Autobot. “Such a romantic,” she giggled.

The two spent the rest of the evening in silence, cuddled up together and watching the storm.


	28. IDW: Soundwave/Cosmos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by anon: "If you're taking requests still... Soundwave and Cosmos? Or someone giving IDW Prowl sweet unrequited lovings despite Prowl being a betrayed and asshole-y cactus and not understanding why."
> 
> “Little Autobot” means “I love you.” It’s also probably the safeword.

Soundwave decided not to say anything, not immediately. He watched Cosmos fidget in his lap, trying so hard to contain his anxiety. Pretty shit job doing so, but Soundwave wasn’t going to call him out on it.

“Is something wrong, Cosmos?” Soundwave inquired finally.

Cosmos gasped, jumping in Soundwave’s lap, the Decepticon’s face so close to his helm. “Er… uh… W-Well…” He circled and poked two digits together, staring at them with his flashing blue visor. “It… It’s…”

Soundwave wrapped his arms tighter around Cosmos’s hips. Reassuring weight.

“Tell me.”

Cosmos gulped. “This… Okay, it’s r-really stupid, so don’t–don’t laugh, okay?” he grumbled, huffing.

Soundwave stared. “I am not known to laugh.”

“Y-Yeah… Well. Um… When you, uh… Sometimes, when you call me… littleautobot–” Cosmos coughed. “I… really like it. Like… really, really like it. Like…” He spread his hands. “… That.”

“It arouses you?” Soundwave asked bluntly.

Cosmos spat. “Yeah, well, when you just say it like–it’s stupid! But… I can’t help it.” He looked away, worried, ashamed.

Soundwave thought a moment. “Does it now?” One hand slid slowly down between Cosmos’s legs, surprising him. Soundwave’s masked face was only a mere inch from touching his helm, over his audiol. “Little Autobot,” he crooned in his deep voice.

Cosmos shuddered. “O-Oh, Primus.”

Soundwave gently stroked two fingers along the seams of Cosmos’s panel. He felt something wet. “It seems you are right,” he said, looking at the lubricant smeared on his digits.

“Hey,” Cosmos mumbled, “s-sitting like this, in y-your lap… it doesn’t h-help–”

“Open for me, little Autobot,” Soundwave interjected, and just like that, Cosmos’s panels practically flew open. Soundwave hummed, close to a chuckle. He ran his fingers up and down the Autobot’s folds. Cosmos gulped, loud and comical. “Do you have a certain way you like me to say it? Little Autobot.” Soundwave’s voice changed a timbre, something smoother, huskier.

Cosmos gasped, pushing into the fingers. “Nn… _Y-Yes_ …”

“You’re very cute when you tremble, little Autobot,” Soundwave crooned. He kneaded fingers inside a seam along Cosmos’s chest, petting circuits close to the surface. Cosmos’s fans activated, loud and vibrating. “Perhaps I should make my own confession.”

Cosmos raised his head. “Wha–” He squeaked as Soundwave’s fingers pushed into his channel–one, then two, and finally, a third. Rubbing his anterior node in between stroking the mesh walls. Cosmos whimpered, clutching at the arms holding him.

“I, too, find the noises you make quite provocative,” Soundwave hummed against the back of his helm. He moved Cosmos, just enough to let his panel open. Cosmos stared at the erect unit in awe, visor glimmering vibrant blue. “So,” Soundwave continued, drawing lazy circles on Cosmos’s node, “would you be kind enough to indulge me, little Autobot?”

“Guhyuh,” Cosmos replied intelligently.

Soundwave helped lift Cosmos up, the Autobot’s knees weak as jelly. Positioning him, Soundwave slowly lowered Cosmos, stopping once the head of his unit pushed past his folds. Cosmos invented, plating rattling; he sunk down, until finally, little by little and with a lot of whimpering and writhing, Soundwave was sheathed completely inside him.

“You are so very warm,” Soundwave said, working in slow, deliberate thrusts. A finger still fondling Cosmos’s node. “Always welcoming me, little Autobot. So eager, so desperate.” He nuzzled his maskplate against the side of Cosmos’s head. “Like it was made to fit me.”

Cosmos whined. “Y-Yes, Soundwave.” He rolled his hips, clenching down on the unit. “F-For you. Y-Yeah, just f-for you.” He didn’t even really know what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. Cosmos could see stars, and they were nothing like the trillions he’d seen before.

“I am honored,” Soundwave purred. Fingers continued probing seams, across his chest, down to his hip, before finding one along his inner thigh. “You feel exquisite, little Autobot.”

Cosmos was reduced to garbling noises now, none of which made much sense. He let Soundwave guide him, fucking him deep and slow. When it was no longer enough, Cosmos mumbled and shook his aft a little. Soundwave knew what he wanted; he held him tight, both arms coiled around him, and started thrusting faster and in earnest.

Cosmos squealed and shook, making adorable little ah-ah-ahs each time he bounced against Soundwave’s lap.

“Now,” Soundwave said, fingering a fuel pump along Cosmos’s throat, “you’ll overload for me, little Autobot.”

Just like that. That was all it took. Cosmos cried out, visor nearly bleeding white as he overloaded. Transfluid coating Soundwave’s unit, leaking onto his thighs. Soundwave held him through it, pausing his thrusting, until the Autobot finally went limp and slumped in his arms.

“Are you satisfied, Cosmos?”

Cosmos nodded feebly. “Uh h-huh.”

“Then bear with me, little Autobot.”

Cosmos whimpered, ragdoll limp in Soundwave’s embrace, the Decepticon continuing his slow thrusting. It was overwhelming, bordering a little on overstimulating, but Cosmos was happy. He wouldn’t mind doing this all day, everyday, and he had a feeling Soundwave wouldn’t mind too much either.

“… Hey,” Cosmos mumbled suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“Did you know I once sent flowers from the Crystal Gardens to Prowl?” Cosmos said. “I was hoping to ask him out, but he just got mad and threw them away.”

“Wanker.”

“Deffo wanker.”


	29. G1: Inferno/Red Alert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For that-lambo-though-nomnom on tumblr, who asked: "Hi! If you're still taking requests, can I request Inferno/Red Alert with size difference Kink?"
> 
> Kinda wanted to take this in a different direction from what I thought might be a bit obvious.

“Today is the day, I have decided.”

Inferno nearly spit up through his curly straw. He put his drink and datazine aside, sitting upright on the berth. “Are ya–are ya sure, Red?” he asked dubiously.

Red Alert paced the room, hands crossed behind his back, the look of utmost determination and seriousness on his face. He finally stopped, turning his glower to Inferno. “Yes, Inferno,” he said, “today I take… the plunge.”

“Y'really don’t havta,” Inferno reassured, “I mean, it took us, like, how many tries–”

“–Ten–”

“–to use yer channel, an’ that scrap’s malleable.” Inferno scratched his cheek, nervous. “I ain’t so sure… yer mouth could take it.”

“Are you doubting my abilities, Inferno?” Red Alert sniped.

Inferno gawped. “No, I–”

“Do you feel I’m weak? That I’m not able to give you the proper satisfaction you desire due to my size?” Red Alert squinted. “Are you toying with me? Is this relationship a–”

“Whooooa, there,” Inferno interjected, placing nozzle hand on Red Alert’s head. Best to stop the train before it derailed and crashed into a fiery oblivion. “That ain’t true, Red. Nonna it. Y'know that.” He smiled, sincere. “I love ya, bot; s'why I’m worried ‘boutcha. Don’t wanta rushin’ on my behalf an’ all.”

Red Alert grumbled, secretly enjoying the nozzle patting his head. “Yes… Well. I am ready. I know I can do this.” He invented, placing a fist over his spark. He met Inferno’s gaze, optics ablaze and glowing. “If you will let me, that is.”

Inferno’s cheekplates warmed. Red Alert was just so damn… cute. And also kinda hot–in a number of ways. “Aw, shucks,” he chortled, sitting back down, “how can I say no t'such a perdy face like that?” He winked.

Red Alert nodded curtly. “Get in position, please.”

Inferno laid back on the slab, spreading his legs. He watched Red Alert crawl up between them, on hands and knees. He swallowed, getting a little warm under the collar.

Red Alert ran splayed fingers over Inferno’s codpiece, teasing and gently coaxing. When the plating opened, Inferno’s unit was half-mast. Red Alert’s optics widened–he’d almost forgotten just how… big his partner was. His own channel twitched, and he quickly turned his head away, loudly clearing his throat in a fist.

“If ya ever want t'stop,” Inferno said, touching Red Alert’s shoulder, “ya let me know, ‘kay?”

“Yes. And the same goes for you.”

Red Alert studied the unit before using both hands to slowly stroke it to full erection. Inferno groaned, wiggling on the slab. Red Alert was not unfamiliar with Inferno’s equipment–he’d given him a number of handjobs in the past. Fingered and ate his channel out, too. But this would be the first time he attempted to use his mouth.

It’d been rough, and took some time before Red Alert’s channel adjusted to Inferno’s girth. Trial and error, more failures than successes. All that hard work paid off, however, and now Red Alert could fit Inferno comfortably, riding him without any sort of searing hot pain. The channel plating was much more malleable and conforming, could stretch and accommodate larger objects–the mouth… not so much.

But Red Alert had been practicing. He wouldn’t admit that to Inferno, too embarrassed. Practicing with tools and foods that were roughly the same size as his partner. It’d been difficult; either his mouth simply couldn’t stretch that wide, or he couldn’t take more than a couple inches. Still, Red Alert wasn’t a quitter; he could do this. He knew bots smaller than him who could swallow someone like Inferno whole when they put their mind to it. Working on the actuators in his mouth, jaw, and throat at least twice a day also helped. And Red Alert was getting kind of tired deepthroating Femax cucumbers.

Inferno, ever diligent, watched Red Alert do his magic. His nimble hands, stroking up and down his shaft; sometimes dipping to tease his channel folds below, never pressing in. One hand, then two, then back to one–alternating. Dragging up tongue in laps like his fingers up and down the unit, suckling on the head and licking the slit. Lubricant welled in Inferno’s channel, and Red Alert swallowed a few beads of transfluid.

Inferno was properly on the edge now. Prepared. Red Alert switched up the coolant pumps in his mouth, gulping down mouthfuls of the fluid. Would be slick and easier to take the unit now. He invented, met Inferno’s gaze again. Inferno smiled crookedly, nodding him on. He’d stop everything if he felt Red Alert was in any pain–Red Alert could trust that much.

Red Alert adjusted his jaw actuators. First, he took Inferno’s head, pausing. Felt that familiar sting in his hydraulics. Then, still keeping eye contact with his partner, took an inch. Another inch, and that might have been his limit. Inferno trembled, both aroused and uneasy. Red Alert kept the unit still in both hands, and using all his training and all his determination, slowly slid the shaft in deeper.

Inferno gasped. Not only from the sensations–Red Alert’s mouth tight and wet around him, not too unlike a channel–but just the shock of it all. Red Alert… was doing it. He could feel his head brush against the smaller bot’s intakes, almost went to stop him, but when Red Alert swallowed more without much difficulty, he bit his lip and laid back.

Red Alert waited a moment, inventing. He started sucking now, lips tight and stretched over the fat unit. Working it very carefully at first; Inferno could see his unit in his throat, so deep, and God his entire frame was suddenly on fire.

Red Alert bobbed his head, gradually building pace; slurping, loud and heavy, coating his partner’s unit in coolant. What he couldn’t take in his mouth he used to stroke with his hands, mouth and fingers meeting in the middle; up, down, down, up. When Red Alert swallowed, it sent a spasm through Inferno’s unit, and the mech tried not to whimper and writhe.

“Scho guuh,” Red Alert slobbered. So good, Inferno figured.

“Primus, yeah,” Inferno groaned, dizzy. He licked his lips; Red Alert’s mouth tugging up and back, pausing to change angles so the head was rubbing and bulging against his cheek. “Scrap, Red. Just… hot damn.”

Red Alert whimpered, optics closed. That whimper tickled through Inferno’s shaft, right into his anterior node below. “Mrmm, lahv yewh,” the smaller Autobot whined incoherently.

“I–I love ya, too, Red, b-but… but I think I’m…” Inferno grit his teeth, feeling the charge in his chest reach breaking point. “Red, y'might wanna–”

Red Alert captured his gaze again, and Inferno was stunned. Then, he nodded; allowing himself to relax, riding the wave to completion. He snarled when overload struck a few minutes later, reaching out to squeeze Red Alert’s shoulder.

Red Alert gasped, cry muffled as transfluid gushed down his choked throat. He swallowed as much and as quickly as possible, but was forced to pull his mouth free, sputtering up excess transfluid. Inferno finished his load on Red Alert’s face, the mech wincing as the fluid hit him in the optics, across his forehead; more in his mouth, hanging open, slack and aching but otherwise in good condition.

Inferno heaved, fans cooling him down. He sat up on an elbow, gently cupping one of Red Alert’s messy cheeks. “Ya okay, partner?” he asked, grin crooked.

Red Alert adjusted and stroked his jaw. He was finally able to close his mouth; a quick rush of pain, then it was gone. He nodded; vocalizer was still playing catch-up.

“Aw, Red,” Inferno swooned, pulling the smaller, squeaking Autobot into a large, tight hug, “yer the best.”


	30. G1: Soundwave/Arcee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avengersemhwasp1 on tumblr asked: "G1 Arcee /Soundwave midnight rendezvous. They were involved before the Nemesis and the Ark left Cybertron and when Arcee finds him on Earth, they rekindle their love and get down and dirty fast. :)"
> 
> Pre-animated movie, when Arcee newly arrived on Earth.

“This is… wrong.”

Soundwave turned from staring at the waning moon. Arcee stood a few feet away, unable to look up, head bowed. Her optics dim and a melancholy blue. “We can’t… This is the last time, Soundwave,” she murmured, hands turning into fists.

“Arcee: explain,” Soundwave ordered, approaching her.

Arcee stiffened, but did not move away. Soundwave stopped in front of her, fearlessly reaching out and placing his hands on her hips.

Arcee exvented, shaking her head. “You know why. This will only end in tragedy, and I’m… I’m a loyal Autobot. I believe in my cause, as you believe in yours,” she explained sadly, “and because of that, we can’t… we can’t go back to how it used to be.”

Soundwave stared at her in silence. He cupped her cheek, and Arcee couldn’t help but sigh and lean into his palm. “Soundwave: understands concern,” he said, voice mechanical, void of emotion. He bowed down, maskplates slipping open. Despite herself, despite everything, Arcee raised her head to meet him in a kiss.

Arcee scowled, pulling away a second later. “You’re Megatron’s dog,” she spat. “And one day–one day we’ll be in the middle of a battle, and I won’t–you won’t–hold back.” She pushed at Soundwave’s chest. “So this has to end. Right here, right now. You’ve sworn yourself to the Decepticons. And I know nothing I can say, or do, will make you change sides.”

“Arcee and Soundwave: always stubborn.”

Arcee smirked, her smile lopsided and miserable. “Yeah,” she exvented, “yeah, we are.”

The two stared at one another, and Arcee knew there was pain in Soundwave’s spark. Knew he was hurting just as much as she was. He’d always been better at hiding it, however. Arcee held back the tears as she threw her arms around the Decepticon, holding him tight.

Soundwave closed his arms around her, nuzzling the side of her head. “Request: one last time,” he asked.

Arcee wiped the corners of her optics, leaning back in Soundwave’s arms. She smiled again, but the agony remained. “One last time,” she said, taking the Decepticon by the chin and dipping him down into another kiss.

Soundwave laid out on the cool ground, Arcee spreading on top of him. They kissed again, hands exploring and mapping each others bodies. If this was to be the last, they wanted to memorize every inch, every seam and plate of armor. Arcee slid a hand between them, stroking his codpiece open, little fingers curling around his unit and helping it to pressurize. Never once breaking the kiss, Soundwave’s hands running down her back and grabbing her aft, squeezing.

Arcee sat back, exventing, moonlight catching on her glossy lips. “Soundwave…” she groaned, fingering her panel open. Her channel was already wet, walls fluttering with need. Soundwave dipped one large, thick finger inside, tugging and probing, pushing into the knuckle. Arcee whimpered, optics screwed shut and frame trembling. “Yes…” She rolled into the finger, little jerks of her hips. “M-Missed this… missed y-you…”

“Soundwave: missed Arcee, too,” Soundwave replied. He withdrew his finger, taking Arcee’s hand and helping her up on her knees. Arcee got into position, breathed deep, and slowly lowered down on Soundwave’s unit. She gasped, stopping after a few inches; Soundwave clutched her hand, fingers tangled together.

Arcee’s body quickly remembered Soundwave. Opened and adjusted for him and his familiar unit. She slid halfway down, rising up, back and forth. Stopping to clench down slightly on the head and roll it around her lips and walls. Back down, whining and open-mouth venting. Arcee could only say his name, drowned and overwhelmed by the sensations. Watching herself grind and swallow the unit whole.

“Frag, Soundwave!” Arcee snarled, head thrown back. She started pounding, riding hard on the unit. Hitting nodes nestled deep in her channel. After a minute, she sat forward, optics hooded and rolled back. Coolant spilling from her pretty pink lips. Soundwave took her by the face, thrusting his thumb full into her mouth. Arcee moaned around it, held his wrist as she suckled tenderly and hungrily on the digit.

Soundwave’s visor flashed a violent red. Arcee gasped as she was suddenly dislodged, lifted off Soundwave. He pinned her to a nearby tree, holding her hands above her hand with only one of his. She growled, hooking a leg around his waist; he slid easily back inside her, snapping his hips almost viciously. Arcee howled; they were far from any civilization. No one here to see or hear them, no here to judge.

“Yes, y-yes, like this,” Arcee grunted, teeth bared. She slammed down on his unit, matching his ferocity. Soundwave growled, tightening his hold around her trapped wrists. He pressed up against her smaller body, keeping it in place as his free hand dipped into a chest seam, prying and digging. Arcee’s cry turned into a snarl; she twisted, pushing into the hand, until Soundwave finally bowed down to take her needy mouth in a harsh, heavy kiss.

Their tongues stroked one another, teeth and lips grazing. Arcee sucked on his tongue, giving it a small bite. Soundwave retaliated by nibbling on her bottom lip, tugging on the edge. Drew a droplet of energon, smearing it between their fumbling mouths. He licked it away, as Arcee lashed her tongue up his cheek, below his visor.

Arcee overloaded first, clenching hard on the unit. Bucking and riding out her overload. It would be the last, after all–at least with Soundwave. Soundwave continued taking his time, relishing how her body squirmed and begged for him. And when he climaxed, Arcee’s entire body went stiff, optics rolling back in her sockets, mouth open and letting Soundwave steal one last kiss.

The two fell to the ground, still coupled together. Arcee laid across Soundwave’s chest, heaving, listening to his spark thrum loudly beneath her audiol.

Yes, this would be the last time.

Until the next time.


	31. TFP: Megatron/Optimus; Megatronus/Orion Pax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For babblingbug on tumblr.
> 
> Experimented with this one a little bit–on the angsty side, takes place after episode… God, I don’t remember. The episode where Optimus gets amnesia. This isn’t nearly as smutty, but there is still smut, so!
> 
> Deffo got inspiration from Colors by Hasley for this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGulAZnnTKA

Megatron realizes, with a sinking feeling like his spark dropping into acid, that this is it. There are no do-overs. There are no third chances. As Orion Pax–Optimus–regains his memories, the Autobot leader looks at Megatron with hatred so raw and powerful it shoots down his backstrut and temporarily immobilizes him. His own rage suddenly gone, nothing but emptiness and sadness, because this had always been too good to be true.

There were more than tactical reasons Megatron chose to keep Optimus alive. No, he was Orion again. Orion Pax, a young librarian, a surprisingly intelligent but equally naive mech with a bleeding spark. Megatron ripped out that spark, again and again, but somehow it feels like Optimus had his under his boot now. For information, for data, for leverage over the Autobots–for pitiful, despicable nostalgia, for feelings he long thought lost but resurfaced the moment he looked in Optimus’s eyes and knew–this was it. Another chance.

But things are always too good to be true. Megatron has learned this the hard way, all of his life. You cannot except the world to be fair. You fight and claw and tear and destroy everything until it’s yours. Nothing is ever truly given.

Orion Pax once was, Megatron knows. Orion who once loved Megatronus, and didn’t see him as a monster–as lower class, war-mongering filth only good for fighting and entertaining the privileged. He gave Megatronus his love freely–and Megatronus, for the first time of many, ripped it apart.

Megatron watches in his stunned silence as Optimus escapes with his teammates. Noises turn shallow, buzzing around him, colors blur and bleed into something dim and dark and ashen gray. He hears the Vehicons, asking what they want their Master to do, ready to throw themselves into the line of fire at his word. But their voices, too, are distant, as is the past that had been forcefully dragged into the present, if only for a short time.

Images flash through Megatron’s CPU. Memories; their sounds, their colors, he can see and hear perfectly. Like they’re happening right in front of him, all new and unknown. All of these memories recycle in a matter of seconds, but inside the loneliness of his mind, they last what feels like hours.

The first time Megatronus took Orion to bed. He never wanted to be gentle in his life–not until Orion. But he tried, and for the most part, he succeeded. Orion venting and quivering in his arms as he thrust inside his needy channel. It fit so perfectly–it’s so cliche, he remembers thinking, but it’s true. It’s all true. So are the songs, so are the butterflies, so are all those pesky reminders of being deeply in love with someone you’re practically always walking on air.

Orion assures him he doesn’t need to hold back, not so much. He’s not fragile, he reminds Megatronus with a soft laugh and smile. He can handle pressure, and he’s not afraid of Megatronus breaking him.

What a horrible mistake.

Megatronus believed Orion was telling the truth. Love blinds a person, so they say, so Orion–who once looked so small and meek and humble when they first met and shook hands–is now imposing, powerful, strong in his own ways that Megatronus knows he can never quite be. Not in the same way; not on the same wavelength.

This is dangerous, Megatronus thinks, blue optics wide as he scans the pliant body beneath him, this can kill me. He can kill me.

Well, not quite yet. Orion, no, but Optimus was most definitely trying.

A new memory. Kissing, something deep and sensual, something that twists and turns in Megatronus’s tanks. Orion’s smaller mouth, his adorable tongue; he tries not to bite, and when he does, Orion just smirks, lips curving against his, and playfully scolds him. Later he would bite back. It’s a lovely view of Iacon, but Orion preoccupies most of his attention; the way the smaller bot wiggles in his lap as he fucks him on his fingers. He can take quite a lot, Megatronus finds, and it only makes him hungrier.

This moment could last forever. That would be okay.

Orion shudders as he overloads on his fingers. He has such an adorable little cry when he climaxes. Megatronus thinks about it late at night in his shabby excuse for shelter, optics powered off and stroking himself to completion. Orion follows him into his fantasies and his dreams, and Megatronus sometimes wakes startled.

This is dangerous.

Megatronus liked dangerous. But only if the odds were with him. Orion has an amazing poker face, and what feels like a nice hand of cards.

Up against the alley wall, Orion biting down on his hand to stifle the noises. There’s a group of people only twenty or so feet away. He’s embarrassed, but my goodness, how wet he is. Megatronus teases him, his deep voice tickling the back of his neck; one hand braced to the wall, another on Orion’s hip. Fucking him hard, making sure every thrust gradually broke down Orion’s barriers until he eventually overloaded screaming his name for the whole damn city to hear.

Megatronus, victorious, turning to the crowds of fans screaming and cheering in the stadium seats. He has his hands in the air, he’s laughing, triumphant, and the people can’t get enough. He spots Orion in his usual seat, always close to the arena but never close enough to risk getting hit with energon or spilled fluids. Even sandwiched and surrounded by howling and jumping fans, the little glitch is fondling himself. He looks calm, but Megatronus can tell–the flushed optics, the way his shoulders stiffen, how he bites and chews his bottom lip. One hand between his legs, moving ever so slightly, and how many fingers is he using? All of them? He’s probably so desperate–five fingers isn’t enough. Orion sinks forward, mouthing something– _I need you_ , and Megatronus laughs because isn’t this wonderful, isn’t this beautiful? The world is all his.

The last time they interface is days before their fall. It’s quiet, it’s quick, it’s awful. They’re both harboring darkness, secrets and visible disappointments. They’re pulling apart at the seams, and neither will stand down. Orion knows the violence growing inside Megatronus will soon consume him. Megatronus knows Orion’s oversized spark will be his undoing. But neither expected to be the one to take the other out–Megatronus would gladly die in the battlefield, win or lose. Orion would gladly die defending innocent lives who didn’t even know his name, and most likely wouldn’t care after some time had passed.

“I’m so tired,” Megatronus grumbles, sitting on the edge of the slab.

“Me too,” Orion murmurs, perched on the other end of the bed. Backs facing one another.

“We can’t go back to sleep.”

“Not anymore, no.”

That’s a lie. Orion slept and he woke, so many years later, and Megatronus is not the Megatronus he quite remembers or thought he knew. But he’s awake now, and Megatron intends to keep him awake. Even if it means blinding him in darkness.

Too good to be true. The world catches up to Megatron and he screams. He’s going to kill Optimus Prime, he decides. Optimus took Orion from him, and now he knows, definitely and forever, Megatron will never get him back.


	32. IDW: Getaway/tentacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: "If I may ask for a request if you're still open. Getaway having a thing for tentacles. So when a tentacle alien attacks the ship, Getaway allows himself to get caught. The crew is not sure if to save him while he's getting fragged."

Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, and the small crew tagging along were silent on the ride back to the ship. The atmosphere was tense, everyone a little uneasy and on edge. Suddenly, Whirl threw a dagger, puncturing a wall.

“I was right,” Whirl said, over the gasps and screams of his teammates, “you _can_ cut the tension with a knife!”

“Whirl! You could have caused a hull breach!” Magnus snarled.

Whirl sighed wistfully. “I know. A pity.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” Powerglide grumbled, “I don’t really think we should have left Getaway behind. To deal with those…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Things.”

“He said he can handle it, and I believe him,” Skids insisted. “Trust me. He’s gonna work things out. Turn this situation around into something peaceful.”

“Do you think they’re gonna torture him?” Powerglide worried.

“Eh, they’re just a bunch of ooey gooey slime,” Whirl huffed, shrugging, “he can handle it. Probably.”

Rodimus frowned. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. We just have to wait, and hope everything goes well.”

Whirl leaned toward Skids, elbowing him. “Hey,” he whispered harshly, “if your buddy dies, can I get his datazines? You know, the ones with the naked–”

“That’s enough, Whirl,” Magnus scowled.

Skids was worried, however.

The Cephlas were a large, organic race of sentient slime, equipped with a number of nasty looking tentacles. They had planned to kill these intruders, despite Rodimus’s best efforts to explain they came here by accident, not knowing this planet was occupied. Getaway then stepped forward, bravely offering himself up as a hostage so he could talk the Cephlas down. Reassure them they weren’t a threat. The Cephlas–ten of them in total–huddled into a large, pink blob, mumbling and blubbering, before finally parting and agreeing to the negotiations. But if they remained unconvinced, they would not only kill Getaway, but send a fleet of soldiers to take down the Lost Light as well.

He’s got a way with words. Charmer, when he wants to be, Skids thought, smiling weakly. He was sure Getaway would be fine.

Getaway was having the time of his fucking life. This was it. For as long as he could remember, being taken and used by tentacles had been his number one fantasy. And now the dream had come true. Even better? The Cephlas were actually very intrigued with this strange creature, wanting to get their hands on the mechanical being.

“I surrender myself fully to you as an act of submission,” Getaway declared, “to prove I am no threat.”

The Cephlas looked among one another. “Prove it,” one growled.

Oh, thank God. Getaway thought they’d never ask. He went on all fours, raising his aft in the air–presenting himself. Panel open and exposing his already wet channel. “If you know what this means, then–”

“The coocoo!” the Cephlas cried, waving their tentacles in the air. “It asks for coocoo!”

Getaway narrowed his optics. “Does that mean… you know…” And he explained his intents. The Cephlas didn’t look surprised.

“Interfacing?” one snorted. “That is coocoo on our planet. It is a form of bonding, and show of trust.”

“Do we give this alien the coocoo?”

“It seems willing, but do we trust it not to try something?”

“The intruder is unarmed. I do not sense it is a threat. It seems very eager.“

“A bit too eager…”

“You can do whatever you want to me with those,” Getaway gulped, “tentacles.”

The Cephlas chuckled. “Very well, alien. We shall give you the coocoo. See if you can withstand the pleasure.”

Getaway swooned. “I will fight to be strong!”

Two tentacles wrapped around Getaway’s legs, dragging him over to the group of slimy aliens. They continued snickering, lifting Getaway off the ground and hanging upside down. The tentacles spread his legs; the Autobot looked up, watching a third tentacle hover above his channel. “O-Oh,” he whimpered, optics tinted violet. “Yes, pl–ahh!”

The tentacle wedged itself inside his channel. Pulsating, both growing and shrinking; never causing any pain, working with his slick, fluttering walls. The tentacle started thrusting, Getaway moaning as he bobbed up and down in the air, all the energon going to his helm. He could see double, optics crossing; the squelching sounds of the tentacle pounding him, going deeper and finding his tanks–he moaned, loud and shameless.

“He seems to be enjoying the coocoo,” a Cephla hummed, stroking its chin. “Perhaps…” It raised one of its tentacles, pressing against the hood of Getaway’s channel, squirming and rubbing his node. Getaway gasped and jerked, arms swinging; the tentacle waited a moment, shrinking a little before stuffing itself inside with the first tentacle. Thrusting in, as the second thrust out.

Getaway cried out, head thrown back. The Cephlas kept fucking him deep with the tentacles as they lowered him to the ground. Getaway vented, jumping when two tendrils coiled around his arms and pinned them down. Another wrapped around his throat, squeezing tight and blocking energon and coolant flow. He gagged, optics flashing.

“Does this thing have a mouth?” one Cephla grumbled.

Getaway unlocked his maskplate, making it easier when a tentacle yanked it off. The Cephlas giggled again; the tentacle holding his mask dropped it, worming into his mouth. Wiggling past his intakes, down his throat, and even deeper. Getaway choked and sputtered around it, watching the wet thing pump in and out, in and out, matching a similar pace as the two tendrils squirming in his channel.

“Mm-mmmm!” Getaway mumbled and groaned. He was lifted off the ground again, arms held behind his back; legs folded and kept open. Placed in an awkward position, forming a small arch. The two tentacles thrashed in his abdominal chamber, pushing and slamming against the dermal plating across his belly. The tentacle in his mouth was too deep, he could no longer feel the end. His optics watered, rolling back, and if he could smile he’d be beaming like a fucking sun.

“It has a strange appendage of its own,” a Cephla said, nodding at his dripping, pressurized unit.

“Not unlike the beasts we keep as pets,” one snickered. “What base, crude lifeforms these creatures are.”

“I wonder…” A Cephla slithered over, two tentacles extended. One wrapped all the way up Getaway’s shaft, the second forming smaller tendrils at the edge. Wiggling and prodding his slit, down the thin orifice. Getaway screamed, but it was muffled; the tentacle went faster in his mouth, splashing up coolant. It wasn’t a necessarily bad cry; though he struggled, he didn’t want it to stop.

Getaway overloaded, streaking his stomach and the floor in transfluid. The Cephlas marveled at the strange fluid, three stopping to study it. They withdrew their tentacles, letting Getaway hit the ground and roll on his side. Tongue lolling out his split smile, shaking and trembling.

“Do not think it is over yet, intruder,” a Cephla grunted. “The coocoo must continue.”

Getaway whimpered happily.

The coocoo lasted a few hours, actually. Getaway had never been happier, even if he was to be milked dry by the end. He was on his sixth overload, sitting on the ground, back against the wall. Surrounded by the inquisitive aliens.

“Yes, yes, yes! Frag me, frag me hard! P-Please, please!” Getaway squealed, beaming at the tentacles curled up and impaling his channel, moving fast in blurs of pink. He held a tentacle in each hand, alternating between sucking and licking them. “M-More! More!” Getaway cried, dragging his tongue up a tentacle. “More, pl–” The same appendage thrust into his mouth, though he continued whimpering and whining happily around it, entire head bobbing with the sheer speed of the thing.

“Its stamina is strong,” a Cephla whispered. “I am surprised.”

Getaway stood on hands and knees, spit-roasted by four tentacles. Two in his channel, two in his mouth. A third tugging and yanking on his unit. His optics completely aglow and rolling back into his head. Getaway’s entire chassis was coated in fluids–his own, as well as the Cephlas’s. Some of his paint had chipped off from all the manhandling.

“I am beginning to think this alien has a fetish,” a Cephla mumbled, feeling tired just watching this go on for so long.

Getaway laughed, bouncing as a tentacle repeatedly slapped his channel, turning the hard folds purple. He held his chest, shifting armor to allow more tendrils to dig inside seams. “C-Coocoo is the best! S-So good, you’re s-so good!” he slobbered, tongue hanging free. He grabbed a tendril resting nearby, put it in his mouth and suckled, lips stretching and pulling down on the appendage.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” one Cephla growled. “The coocoo is done!”

Getaway popped the tentacle out of his mouth. “No!” he cried. “I’ve still got four more overloads left in me!”

“By the gods,” the ten aliens said in perfect, horrified unison.

An hour later, Rodimus received a transmission from Getaway. He explained, after hours talking and convincing the Cephlas, they would let him and the _Lost Light_ go. Rodimus sent a ship to pick Getaway up, Skids coming along.

“You look… terrible,” Skids grunted, wincing at Getaway’s flaky paintjob and all the dried, sticky fluids.

“Oh, it was terrible,” Getaway exvented, hand to his spark, “but I’m just glad I got out of there alive.”

“Did they torture you at all?” Skids asked, concerned.

Getaway grinned behind his maskplate. “You could say that…”


	33. TFP: Silas!Breakdown/Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For distant-little-lights on tumblr: Silas!Breakdown/Starscream. Silas giving that Seeker ass a good poundin’. Alternate ending to “The Human Factor”, where Silas escapes. This one went on a little too long, but hey, it happens.

Silas had escaped the Decepticons, left with nothing but what remained of his life. And if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, after escaping into the bleak desert landscape of Jasper, he found out he wasn’t actually really alone.

Granted, Starscream had been easy to dupe in the past–but with no weapons and no men to back him up, Silas was screwed. He was too weak to try and fight, migraines coming and going in powerful bursts.

When Starscream approached him, the Seeker looked menacing–standing tall, wings hiked, backlit by the light of a full moon, his red optics a storm of rage and–

“What the scrap!?” Starscream yelped, recoiling. He meant to shoot Silas, but in his panic and fear, blasted the ground beside him. “You–you’re dead! D-Did Megatron send you? You don’t look like you’ve been given dark energon–”

Silas quickly realized his advantage. He frowned, yellow optics dim as he raised his hands. Completed the look of submission and helplessness while on his knees. “No, Lord Starscream,” he said, adding the title from past near-death experiences, “I’m not Breakdown. I’m…”

Starscream stared, wide-eyed. He registered Silas’s voice, lowering his arm. “Well, well, well,” he sneered, grinning like a madman. Part amused, part triumphant–this human had turned on him. Now he could have his revenge. “What an interesting development.”

“I must apologize first,” Silas mumbled, “for stealing your t-cog. For stabbing you in the back.”

Starscream grumbled, twitching. He suddenly remembered Megatron, how he had apologized for the very same reasons. But he did it better, and Starscream wasn’t nearly as merciful or senile as the old tin bucket. “Apology not accepted,” he growled, pointing his nullray at the zombified Decepticon.

“Wait!” Silas gasped. “I came to you, specifically you… I’ve been looking. I realize now that the Decepticons are misguided, ignorant fools. You, Lord Starscream, you see the truth.” He gestured to the Seeker, looking much like a young boy wooing a girl on his knees, trying to take her hand with the other pressed to his heart. And Starscream, so far, was eating it up. “I wish to work with you. Beside you, if you will permit me. If not, as your underling. I appreciate true strength and power when I see it–alas, but I was too late to see it before.”

Starscream didn’t know if it was due to lack of energon, his own recent damage, or the fact Silas had a very convincing tongue and way of talking, but something seemed to be working. It had been so long since anyone praised Starscream–even for the good things he’d legitimately done for the Decepticon cause. So long since anyone quivered in fear before him, made him remember what it was like to be an actual threat.

Starscream knew Silas was simply trying to save his own ass. He wasn’t that stupid. But he could tell Silas was no threat in his condition. And he spoke such pretty words…

“Careful now,” Starscream hummed, tapping claws to his cheeks and smiling, “you might actually live a little longer with the way you’re talking.”

Silas looked up at Starscream, alarmed but elated. “I’ll do anything you ask,” he said, trying to swallow down his glee. Sound more desperate, more pathetic; Starscream wanted to be lavished and adored, after all. Appeal to his massive ego. “Anything at all. I can help you get your t-cog back. I can polish your armor, clean you up. Return you to your former, glorious beauty…” He trailed off with a smug, scarred grin.

Starscream blinked rapidly five times straight, genuinely shocked. Then, he puffed out his chest, beaming with hands akimbo. “Oh, yes! Even now I shine in the dust and dirt, but I really do miss looking my best.” His wings flexed and wiggled. “You find me attractive, do you? Strange for a human, I would think. But do tell me more…”

An opening. Silas was going to take it, even if he had to throw his giant body and fight through a tiny crack. Getting under Starscream’s skin was much easier when Starscream had nothing left. Nothing but his damnable pride. Silas stood, cautiously; the Seeker kept his eyes trained on him, but did nothing, weapons pointed at the ground.

“Lord Starscream,” Silas cooed, walking over to Starscream. The Seeker allowed this too. “If I could, I would show you the extent of my respect. I would risk using even my more… specialized equipment, if it meant pleasing you. Touching you. If you would let me, of course. The greatest of honors that I wish I had the chance to ask for before.”

Starscream shuddered. “W-Well,” he grunted, “perhaps I…” He walked closer with a sway of his slender hips. He took Silas by the chin, burying his claw ever so slightly into his bottom lip. “Might just let you. I do, after all, need some proof you’re willing to obey and follow me. Bearing yourself, opening yourself as such, could do the trick.” The last word trailed off in a low snarl, Starscream leering.

Surprisingly, that was all it took. But Silas knew it wouldn’t be easy–just, right now, the two could set aside their differences. Starscream was hungry for touch and praise and loyalty. He was desperate enough to take it even from a human–it helped he wore Breakdown’s skin. Breakdown had always been a bit smarmy to him in life; now it felt like Starscream was paying the meat-headed moron back for not believing and following him blindly.

Starscream wrapped his long fingers around Silas’s unit, stroking it. “Never used this before, hmm?” he smirked. “It shows.” He started working the unit in slow, taunting pumps. Silas groaned and tried not to fall over, bracing his hands on the rock behind Starscream. He wasn’t sure it was safe to touch the Seeker quite yet.

“Look at you,” Starscream sneered into his audiol, “how you come undone with only a few simple touches.” He thrust thumb-claw into Silas’s slit, earning a loud moan. “Pathetic.” He probed the slit a little deeper before retracting, drawing out beads of transfluid. Starscream chuckled, pleased with himself; Silas’s unit grew harder, pressurizing fast, and Silas could feel that pleasure, that lust, just as he could pain.

“Do try to last more than a few minutes, Silas.”

Silas gulped. “My Lord… let me…” He raised a hand, showing it to Starscream. Like reassuring a feral animal they weren’t going to hurt or touch them without permission. Starscream snorted, thinking nothing of it, but allowed Silas to lower his hand. He was surprised, however; it wasn’t support Silas wanted, but rather he was moving that large hand between Starscream’s thighs, finding his panel and cupping it. Starscream snarled–so warm, already wet and engorged. Now who was the pitiful one?

But let the poor, stupid little alien have its fun. It could be entertaining. Either way, Starscream would be getting a good fuck out of this tonight, even if there were a few fumbles in the process. He parted his panels; Silas stroked his folds, the mesh walls, finding his anterior node a bit too quickly. Silas was just surprised these complicated alien robots had similar crude sexual anatomy as humans. Not very different, in the end, with some exceptions–bit disappointing, actually. But that wasn’t important right now.

Two fingers pinned Starscream’s folds open, the middle working shallow strokes in his channel. Starscream growled, his own hands shaking and slowing around Silas’s unit. Silas smiled inside his armor. His finger rubbed and rolled the node–basically a clit–along the pad of his steel finger. Starscream gasped, letting Silas go and leaning back against the boulder, hands grasping at the rock and tearing.

“Does this please you, Lord Starscream?” Silas crooned, keeping his human smile from translating on Breakdown’s face. Don’t get too cocky now.

“Nn,” Starscream whined, teeth grit, “n-not… horrible, no…” He rolled his hips very slightly into the finger, lubricant trickling down his chipped thighs. Silas pressed the finger in deeper, and the Seeker quickly bit down on his fingers to stop himself from yelping aloud.

Silas had to admit, Starscream was, in his alien way, not that bad on the eyes. A little arrogance be damned–he inserted a second finger. Starscream clenched around the digits, for a moment surprised and thrown off balance; Silas gently guided him back against the rock with a hand on his wing. Aforementioned hand stroking the armor, over the torn red insignia.

Why was this human so… so good at this? Must have done his research. He seemed way too familiar with Cybertronian sexual anatomy, he just had to have downloaded the information. Practiced on himself–or Breakdown? Whatever. Yeah, yeah, that had to be it.

“Lord Starscream,” Silas vented, mouthing a cord along Starscream’s neck, “relax. I won’t hurt you. Not unless you ask me to.”

Starscream’s optics widened, blazing red. “I–w-why would you–”

Taking Starscream by the hips, Silas nudged the head of his fat unit against his channel.

“Wait! Wait!” Starscream squawked. “I was suppose to–suppose to…”

“Would you like me to stop?” Silas asked, browplate cocked.

Starscream opened his mouth. Shut it, and frowned. “No,” he growled, “this was my plan. Just–nn!”

Silas didn’t want Starscream too frustrated. He pressed his unit in slowly, all the while the Seeker gasping and writhing beneath him. Wide optics watching as the appendage entered him, first a couple inches, then a little more. This pain, this pleasure–God, he missed it. He hated that he missed it. He hated that his damn body missed it, because his channel walls were instantly opening and spreading without any manual aide, happily swallowing more of the unit.

Silas nestled himself halfway inside Starscream before stopping. Gave the Seeker a moment to collect himself. And then–he started thrusting.

Silas had heard Starscream’s cries and yips and yowls in the past, but none like this. It made him dizzy, and not just from the headaches. Starscream vented open-mouthed, optics flickering; he dug his claws into Silas’s shoulders, holding tight. Bucking to meet each of those pumps, taking just a little of him more every time.

“S-Shit,” Silas cursed, his body suddenly way too hot. He tried not to crush Starscream’s waist in his bigger hands. Gasped when Starscream hooked one leg around his hip, the heel of his boot burying into his back. Silas picked up the pace, close to fucking the Seeker right into the boulder, if not into a hundred pieces.

Because Starscream was most definitely breaking.

“This is–this is–is–” Starscream croaked and rasped, optics lidded, drooling a little. “All–all part of m-my pla–ahhn!” He clung to Silas, in the process swallowing him to the hilt. Silas screamed too, both sets of vision blurring. “Don’t s-stop now, d-dolt!” Starscream spat, slapping Silas’s back and wiggling on the unit.

Silas snarled, pulling back; unit sliding out a few inches, coated in lubricant, and slammed back in.

Starscream shrieked, head thrown back and wings standing on edge and quivering. “Y-Yes!” he cried, smiling sloppily. “Yes, y-yes!” Was he praising Silas or himself? Silas wasn’t going too ask; couldn’t think right now, the immense pleasure setting him closer on edge. He still wouldn’t have the same amount of stamina as these aliens–not for a while. And if he survived more than a few more days in his condition.

“You f-feel so good, Lord Starscream,” Silas groaned, voice shaky, “I-I’ve never felt s-so–”

Right, this wasn’t Breakdown. This was a human wearing Breakdown like wolf’s clothing. Starscream realized, in the haze of all the lust and pleasure and excitement, that technically this might have qualified as necrophilia. His spark skipped a pulse, but that was about it. It was only technically necrophilia, after all.

“I-I’m gonna com–er–over–overload!”

Starscream snapped his head forward, frowning. “No,” he growled, gasping, “this was–no, I was suppose to–”

Too late. Starscream squealed, jerking as transfluid filled his channel, reaching his tanks. His optics bright and beautiful and hooded. He couldn’t help it–he just had to smile. Oh, it felt so good, and the transfluid was so warm– Starscream overloaded a second later, almost from all that wonderful nostalgia alone. Remembering how big Megatron was, how every time he climaxed inside him, he’d get a little bulge in his abdominal chamber. Starscream clenched down on the unit, whimpered–finished.

Silas vented, armor rattling. He slowly pulled his flaccid unit free, wincing at the sight of all that transfluid. Huh–not like the transmission fluid humans used, if they were the same. This was more purple-blue than the typical red or unhealthy black-scarlet. It came out in thick gobs, running down Starscream’s quivering thighs, dripping into a puddle.

Starscream cleared his throat, still shivering. “Ah, y-yes,” he swallowed, the timbre of his voice a little higher pitched, “I expected such, and it… was my… all… along…” He flopped back against the boulder, melting and groaning. “ _Scrap_.”


	34. RiD: Strongarm/Windblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avengersemhwasp1 asked: "Strongarm/Windblade nsfw, Strongarm finally reveals to Windblade her long hidden kink of wanting to frag Windy all night long and see her carrying her sparkling. Windblade is very receptive to this and had been planning to ask Strongarm to bond with her for something along those same lines. Lovin all night long in many different positions. (Sorry about all the StrongBlade requests, just really like this pairing)"
> 
> Takes place post-series, when there's peace... for now. And as the prompt states, pregnant robots... ish. Fiddled with the conjunx ritus ceremony and stuff.

Strongarm hoped for the best, but was prepared for the worst.

Windblade and her had only been dating for a couple years or so now, but the more Strongarm got to know her, get closer to her, the more she fell in love. And she believed Windblade felt the same–otherwise, Strongarm would have never taken this leap. She spent days agonizing over it, trying to keep her worry and fretting from her teammates, but Bumblebee had noticed almost right away. He sat her down, comforted and spoke with her. Said he would support her, and wished her the best of luck. Bumblebee had really come into his own as a leader. His approval helped alleviate some of the stress; Strongarm respected her superior immensely.

So, Strongarm made the plunge. She took Windblade aside, to their usual spot where they frequently enjoyed watching the sun rise and fall. She held Windblade’s hands, who suddenly stopped cracking jokes and realized her partner was serious. And obviously troubled by something. Then, Strongarm spilled the beans.

“I… want to bond with you, as my sparkmate. My conjunx endura,” Strongarm said, firmly, determined, browplates furrowed.

Windblade blinked her wide optics, mouth gaping.

“And, if you’ll have me as your lifemate,” Strongarm invented, and here came the -really- hard part, “I would like to… mate with you.”

Windblade’s optics were close to popping out of her head.

Strongarm could feel her adrenaline wavering. “J-Just say no, and it’s fine. You can think about it, for a while. You don’t have to answer right now,” she swallowed. “But I hope, if you… Well, I hope it won’t change what–”

“Geez, skeptibot, it sure took you long enough.”

Strongarm gawped. “Wha-what?” she squeaked, shoulders jumping.

Windblade smiled softly. “I know a good thing when I see one,” she said, squeezing Strongarm’s hands before letting one go. She stepped up to the blue-white bot, cupping her cheek. Strongarm tried not to sink into her touch. “I’m all about destiny, you know? Divine intervention, cosmic plans, all that silly stuff.” She winked, and Strongarm couldn’t help but titter. “It didn’t take me too long, I think, to realize why Primus sent me here. Not just to help stop another war, but to do so at your side. As your teammate, as your partner. And scrap, we make a damn good couple, don’t we?”

Strongarm laughed. “By my calculations,” she said, “we sure do.”

“So, yeah,” Windblade replied, “count me in.” She smirked. “Sorry. Not very romantic.” She leaned forward, forehead to forehead with her partner. Strongarm’s smile softened. “Yes. I’d love to be your conjunx endura, and I would love to have a sparkling with you.”

Strongarm felt coolant well in her optics. “T-Thank you,” she vented, tittering. She kissed Windblade, but only for a second, quickly turning away. “We’re both pretty strict about ceremonies. I think with this one, we might just be the same.”

Windblade tilted her helm, curious.

“So… The conjunx ritus,” Strongarm said. “The act of intimacy–holding your hands, caressing and kissing you. So now, the act of disclosure–revealing something secret and private about myself to only you.”

Windblade beamed. This was absolutely adorable, and her spark swelled with happiness.

“To be honest, I was never that popular in the academy,” Strongarm confessed, a little embarrassed, “people thought I was a teacher’s bot. I studied too hard. I took our lessons and work way too seriously. A bit of a gearstick, they said. So most of my fellow cadets avoided me, and I didn’t… really have any friends.”

Windblade walked up to Strongarm, caressing her helm. “Those diodes didn’t know what they were missing, Strongarm,” she insisted. “I’ve seen sides of you so playful, so gentle and kind–you even got yourself a nice sense of humor. They were wrong to turn their backs on you.”

Strongarm’s optics turned a light violet. “Yes, well, it’s in the past. I have you–I have my team. I’m content now,” she said. She invented, standing straight. “Now for the act of profference. And while it may not be much, it’s still very important to me.” Strongarm removed something from a spare compartment, holding it out to Windblade. It was a small, circular badge, engraved with Cybertronian words. “My first badge I earned at the academy. I’ve carried it with me ever since. For a reminder of how far I’ve come–and for good luck.”

Windblade placed a hand over her mouth, simply stunned. “That…” She took it in trembling fingers, turning the badge over. It’d been worn down over the years, lost some of its shine. She clutched it to her spark, then swept in and kissed Strongarm.

Strongarm giggled, pulling her back. “Wait! There’s still one more act!”

Windblade pecked her along the jaw. “That’s my cue, yeah?”

Strongarm nodded.

The Seeker stepped back, inventing. She went to one knee, bowing like a knight before her partner. “I accept your gifts, your promises, and happily join you as one. To prove my love, my devotion, you need only tell me whatever you desire of me, and I will do it.”

Strongarm gulped, heat rushing down her backstrut. “And what I want of you…” She took Windblade’s hands, helping her stand. “Is to bear a sparkling with me.”

Windblade beamed, wiping her optics dry. She nodded, and finally tackled her conjunx endura to the ground.

Strongarm rolled Windblade onto her back, pinning her down by the wings. “You know it takes quite a lot of transfluid and spark energy to produce a third spark,” she said, grinning.

Windblade leered. “We got all night, skeptibot. Make me yours.”

It literally took the two all night. Strongarm calculated that with Windblade’s Seeker power levels, as well as gifts from Primus, at least ten overloads would be necessary. Five involving transfluid, five involving shared spark energy.

First overload: Strongarm kept Windblade beneath her, fingering her channel until she fit every single digit inside. Windblade moaned and struggled, grasping at Strongarm’s helm, yanking her into a kiss. She managed to raise her knee just enough to grind it against Strongarm’s codpiece, coaxing out her fully erect unit. They kept kissing, even as Strongarm scissored Windblade open, as Windblade jerked and tugged on her unit. Strongarm thrust inside her easily, all wet and wide. She held Windblade down by the hips as she fucked deep into her, watching the Seeker whimper and tremble. Her optics hooded and rolling back, tongue lolling–so obscene, but oh so cute. Strongarm overloaded first, giving Windblade’s node a few harsh strokes to bring her climax around.

Second and third overload: Strongarm sat on the floor, Windblade upside down on her back with her aft in her lap. Legs draped across her shoulders. Strongarm kept them open as she ate the Seeker out, sloppy licking into her channel walls, nipping at her folds. Windblade twisting back and forth, screaming out her and Primus’s name. All the while Strongarm’s own erection strained, leaking droplets of transfluid. Windblade overloaded into her mouth with a series of yeah-yeah-yeahs; Strongarm quickly adjusted and turned her around, the Seeker presenting herself so Strongarm could bury her unit into her sopping used channel, overloading hard enough to almost collapse on top of her partner. But Windblade liked the position, on her knees, aft in the air, face to the ground; she looked back, grinning, as she held her channel open in invitation. Strongarm gladly accepted, and fifteen minutes later, climaxed again.

Fourth overload: the two assumed the sixty-nine position, Strongarm beneath Windblade, eating out her channel. Windblade sucking and deepthroating Strongarm’s unit, teasing her channel with a few pumps and pets of her fingers. Apparently swallowing transfluid counted as contribution, so she gulped every single drop down. Windblade overloaded on Strongarm’s face, leaving it wet and sticky.

Fifth overload: well, who could turn down a little reverse cowgirl? Strongarm couldn’t see Windblade’s face, but she knew the Seeker was grinning at her from over a shoulder. Strongarm was suddenly mesmerized by Windblade’s wings. Elegant red and black, the glass of her fuselage reflecting the look of awe on her face. She stroked along the wings, the sharp edges, down the lengths and back up the cockpit, kneading seams until Windblade was groaning and leaning into her touch. The fan-blades on her wings whirred to life, cool air hitting Strongarm, and with one final buck and grind of her hips, she overloaded. Windblade followed only a second later; they’d learned to climax in sync by now, though at times it was a bit difficult.

Strongarm held Windblade against the wall, lifting her up and helping her legs around her hips. Their chestplates opening to reveal their bright, radiating sparks. They’d done this before, but only on a few occasions. It was often more overwhelming and exhausting than simple interfacing. White and blue light filled the cave, drowning out the colors of their paintjobs. Jolts of electricity and energy coiling and popping from their rolling sparks.

The two needed breaks in between spark overloads. Windblade laid on the ground, resting her head in Strongarm’s lap. They spent a half an hour in stasis, waking and downing a few cubes of energon–of course Strongarm came prepared. The mating ceremony began around eight that night, and by the fourth spark overload, it was almost four in the morning. Strongarm and Windblade sat, drinking energon from each others mouths, already such a mess from the hours-long interfacing.

Fortunately, the last overload required happened just minutes before sunrise. Windblade had wanted to watch it.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Windblade said, sitting on the edge of the cliff. She rubbed her abdomen, the gestation chamber beneath. “Got any names?”

“Well… I was hoping we could do that together,” Strongarm said, smiling crookedly.

Windblade chuckled. “Together,” she sighed, leaning against Strongarm. “That’s how we’ll be from now on.”


	35. IDW: Galvatron/Cyclonus/Scourge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Here's a request. IDW Cyclonus/Scourge/Galvtron with some horn grabbing, wing touch, and a lot of hardcore thanks to Galvtron."
> 
> Things get a little spooky toward the end, but it's all consensual.

How long had Galvatron stared out at this empty, black universe? He’d lost count of time–it held no meaning in this hellscape. But he’d grown tired of this place many eons ago.

“Everything is about to change.”

Galvatron smiled, hands clasped behind his back. “No longer will we be forced to live as phantoms in this realm of death,” he said. “We will return to our universe, and we will take what is ours.” Galvatron looked at his hand, clenching it into a fist. “What is mine.”

The ancient Cybertronian heard a whimper; his grin widened, and for a moment, he shut his eyes and simply listened before turning to his audience. Cyclonus and Scourge squatted side by side, bound in ropes, ball gags fastened to their faces. They trembled, struggling to keep balance–thin, short chains latched to their collars were clamped down on their swollen, aching nodes. If they even so much as moved an inch, the chain threatened to rip through the sensitive mesh sensors. The vibrators wedged and strapped in their channels certainly didn’t help.

Cyclonus, usually stoic and coldly professional, was faring better than his crewmate. Galvatron expected such. But he could tell the mech was still struggling, optics squeezed shut, focusing and fading in and out of meditation. Worrying the ball in his mouth between his teeth. Scourge was much less stronger–twitching, wriggling, thighs quivering. Whimpering into his gag, optics filled with coolant; it surprised Galvatron he hadn’t ripped his node in two by now.

Then again, Galvatron wouldn’t waste his time with weaklings.

“You both will reap the benefits as well,” Galvatron hummed, swaggering over to the bound mechs. “So long as you remain loyal and by my side.” He stepped behind them, placing hands on each of their shoulders. Pushing them down, just a little; Cyclonus invented sharply at the pain, while Scourge outright yelped.

“I’m disappointed in you, Scourge,” Galvatron chided. He ran a finger up one of the Sweep’s wings, the attached missiles, stopping to pinch the sharp edge. Scourge whined lowly. “I don’t like being disappointed.” He dragged his fingers down the same wing, hard enough to dent and peel back paint. Scourge made an apologetic noise.

Galvatron turned to Cyclonus, grinning. “You’re doing tremendously well, Cyclonus, just as I knew you would,” he chuckled. He flicked an aileron, the small panel twitching in response. “But only one of you will get to suck me off tonight.” Galvatron’s hands massaged and scratched along their wings, nearly knocking Scourge off balance. “I think the winner is clear, however. I could keep you both going all night like this…” He demonstrated by pushing their vibrators in deeper. “But even I have my limits.”

Galvatron simply yanked the chains from their necks, Scourge visibly relaxing and easing back. “As your reward, Cyclonus, Scourge will pleasure you,” Galvatron stated, undoing the gags next.

“Yes, Galvatron,” Cyclonus vented, voice husky and deep. He was suddenly grabbed by one horn, practically dragged over to Galvatron’s makeshift throne. Galvatron yanked out Cyclonus’s vibrator, tossing it aside; the flier winced, but showed no other reaction, though his thighs were wet with lubricant. Galvatron released his pressurized unit, took both of Cyclonus’s horns, and yanked his head down.

Cyclonus grunted, taking a mouthful of Galvatron’s unit immediately. Galvatron guided his head down, forcing him to swallow more, until the cord pushed past his intakes and settled in his throat. Cyclonus gulped around the shuddering unit; fortunately, he adjusted quickly. This wasn’t their first time interfacing. Galvatron helped him along, using his horns to jerk his helm back and forth, until the flier caught up. Optics closed, sucking down hard, tongue pleasuring the underside of the glowing shaft.

“Scourge,” Galvatron growled. He pointed at Cyclonus’s aft, slightly angled up in the air. Channel, sore and engorged, presented to the Sweep. “Use your mouth.”

Scourge nodded quickly. “Y-Yes, Galvatron,” he grumbled. He crawled over on his knees, bowing down until his face was close to Cyclonus’s channel. He licked his lips, thought a moment, then leaned in, pressing his mouth to the folds first before inserting his tongue. Cyclonus groaned around Galvatron’s unit, and the old warrior laughed.

“How wonderful,” Galvatron purred, squeezing Cyclonus’s horns tight enough to snap them in two. He bucked his hips, smashing his groin against the flier’s face; moving himself down his throat to the hilt. Cyclonus coughed, choking; he closed his eyes again, concentrating–then Galvatron started ramming, fast and clumsy, and Cyclonus could only try to hang on. “Yes, yes, w-wonderful.” The old warrior grinned at Cyclonus’s struggling, the way his stretched lips pulled up and down his unit.

Scourge was licking Cyclonus’s node with lavish strokes as the flier jerked back against his face with each sway. Cyclonus eventually overloaded, filling Scourge’s mouth with his transfluid and more lubricant. The Sweep wanted to sit back, but kept suckling and nipping, waiting for the next order.

Galvatron held Cyclonus’s head in place when he climaxed a few minutes later. Cyclonus swallowed every drop of fluid, the cords along his neck flexing. Once finished, Galvatron pulled his unit free, laughing. “You’ve done well, Cyclonus,” he said, turning his crimson gaze to Scourge. “As have you. So you will both be rewarded with an overload tonight.”

Galvatron threw Cyclonus back by a horn, knocking him into Scourge. Both fliers hit the ground, grunting. Galvatron marched forward, the gun on his arm extending outward. He knelt, and without a word, pressed the barrel of the gun against Scourge’s channel, forcing and digging it inside. Scourge cried out, spittle flying from his lips.

“And you,” Galvatron grunted, weapon automatically pumping in and out of the Sweep, “as the winner, you will be given two overloads. And one a little more… personal.” He raised his hand, fingers flexing and curling into a fist.

Cyclonus gasped, arching off the ground as Galvatron burrowed his fist into his channel. A little at first, but pushing relentlessly deeper inside. Cyclonus ground his teeth, optics squinted; he tried to relax, eventually taking the fist almost to Galvatron’s wrist.

Galvatron chortled. “Now,” he said, “you overload when I tell you to. I don’t think I need to remind you both how it’d be wise to do as I command.”

The two fliers shivered, speaking in unison: “Yes, Lord G-Galvatron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus’s facial design is different in earlier comics, but if you wanna imagine his more recent look… vacuum suction, baby.


	36. TFP: Shockwave/Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For distant-little-lights: Post Predacons Rising, with Shockwave comforting Starscream… with sex. There’s not much real comfort involved, to be honest. Kinda tweaked and omitted certain things, including canon–the two Predacons don’t hunt Starscream down, for one. Or at least not right now.

“It may be over for Megatron, but our mission lives on. It will continue, with or without–”

“You’re known for your daunting silence, Shockwave,” Starscream grumbled. He tore his claws along the table, knocking aside beakers, syringes, and test tubes. They shattered loudly on the ground. “So _shut up_!”

Shockwave watched the Seeker, indulging his tantrum. For the time being. He’d been an emotional, flailing mess in the escape pod, and once they arrived at the lab, Starscream immediately went to destroying anything and everything he could get his hands on in his misery and anguish. Shockwave allowed it–not only because he knew Starscream would tire himself out quickly, but it wasn’t anything important or irreplaceable he was breaking.

Starscream bent over a slab, venting heavily, his tense wings trembling. Shockwave continued staring at him. “… We left him behind,” Starscream growled, swallowing dryly. “We… abandoned him.”

“It would not be the first time,” Shockwave said, “as you very well know.”

Starscream snarled, close to pitching something at the cycloptic Decepticon. He exvented, standing upright. “Even after everything Megatron did to me… This wasn’t how it was suppose to end.”

“It was to be you that extinguished Megatron’s spark?”

Starscream ground his teeth. Sometimes he wondered if Shockwave was even sentient. But he was tired, and no longer had the energy to fight. Even if fighting meant just smashing and throwing things at the walls. “No,” he said curtly, kneading his forehead.

Shockwave finally walked over to the Seeker. “We must continue with the experiments,” he stated, “our work is not yet done. Especially now that the current Predacons have become too wild to tame.”

Starscream turned to Shockwave, glowering. “And what? Create more of those useless beasts so they’ll turn on us, too?” he spat. “No. Megatron is dead. The Predacon project is dead. I–”

“–Need your help, though it pains me to admit.”

Starscream guffawed. “‘Pains you’? You can actually feel pain? Color me surprised!”

“So tell me what I must do to stop these… emotional outbursts,” Shockwave demanded bluntly. “I need you performing at full capacity. All your attention and focus on the tasks at hand.”

Starscream grumbled, shrinking away, shoulders haunched. He hated to admit it, but he’d blame the grief and fatigue later for this. “You want to help me? Fix me?” He stepped up to Shockwave, chest to chest. “Interface with me then.”

“I calculated that would be your second suggestion.”

“And the first?”

“Sarcastically ask to be deactivated.”

Starscream chuckled. “I’m not ready to die, Shockwave. Not yet–not for a long time.” His wings hiked. “I do wonder if you even know how to interface. No doubt you’ve read up about it in the databanks and archives. But you don’t strike me as the type to have ever gotten… physical.” He sneered.

“You know very little about me,” Shockwave explained, “but I know it is in your nature to assume you are always right.”

Starscream balked. “You–”

Shockwave suddenly pinned Starscream against the slab. The Seeker gasped, horror crossing his face. It only lasted a moment; he wasn’t in any danger. The oily smile returned, his hands reaching out to run down Shockwave’s chest, between his legs. “Let’s put your equipment to some actual use then,” he smirked snidely, “and help me overcome my grief.”

It was unfortunate Shockwave had no face. Starscream had always enjoyed kissing Megatron. It was the only thing Megatron used to shut him up that he actually liked. Starscream mouthed along the edges of the scientist’s optic, along his helm. One hand pawing at the opening interface panels. Shockwave cupped the small of his back, pinning him in place. Starscream groaned, panels snapping open as lubricant cut in beads down his thighs.

Starscream knew Shockwave would need physical stimuli if he was ever going to get erect. He doubted the bot even knew how to fantasize. At least in a way that actually gave him any sort of arousal. He took Shockwave’s unit in hand, starting an easy pace–Starscream had done this for Megatron millions of times; shouldn’t take long, even for this mono-eyed drone.

Shockwave was pressurizing in the Seeker’s hand, slowly but surely. Yet he didn’t make a sound–not even a grunt. One thick finger slid up Starscream’s channel before pushing inside–little, just a little, up to his anterior node and massaging circles. Starscream swallowed, his knees shaking and armor rattling. Lubricant thread down Shockwave’s finger, mesh walls spreading to accept more of its girth.

“N-Nnot bad, Shockwave,” Starscream crooned, venting hot air and clouding the scientist’s optic lens, “so far.”

Starscream yelped as the digit thrust in to the knuckle. Agitation from Shockwave? Actually, that didn’t seem too uncharacteristic.

“Turn around,” Shockwave ordered, before manhandling Starscream around and bending him over the slab. The Seeker gulped, clenching the side of the berth, preparing himself for what he hoped wouldn’t be the total annihilation of his–

“Ah!” Starscream yipped, wings fluttering. Shockwave inserted the head of his unit first, moving it in very shallow pumps. He wasn’t necessarily teasing–always calculating, always studying. Starscream wasn’t quite dilated enough; at least, in his opinion. Starscream knew it was pointless to complain. Shockwave could very well injure him (Starscream didn’t mind), and that was the last thing the Decepticon wanted. He needed the Seeker in one piece–mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Though when Shockwave believed he was ready…

Starscream shrieked, holding on tight to the slab. Not as thick as Megatron’s, but a unit was all about how one used it. And Shockwave–this couldn’t be from reading about interfacing. The angle, the way he moved; no, this was from experience. Repeated experience. And if Starscream was able to keep a single train of thought in his clouded mind going right now, he’d wonder just who’d been unlucky (?) enough to interface with Shockwave in the past.

“Pri–Primus,” Starscream stammered, the slab rocking beneath him. Slamming his groin against the side. Each thrust–of course–calculated to give maximum pleasure. Starscream couldn’t see straight, let alone anything more than a couple feet in front of him. He sagged against the table, whimpering and moaning, choking down Megatron’s name before it could get past his lips. It wasn’t easy–and this didn’t even feel like Megatron. Megatron was much more aggressive, much more emotional, and… not as skilled as this sly bastard.

Starscream buried his face in an arm. “Yes, yes, oh…!” he whined and cried. He, on the other hand, was being just as vocal as he was with his former Master. Starscream clawed at the table, peeling back metal with ear-piercing screeches. Shockwave kept his one hand on the Seeker’s hip, burying his fingers deep into a seam and kneading.

“Sha- Shock…” Starscream bit down on his arm, quieting the embarrassing whimper. He threw his head back, moaning. “You are…”

“Helping you overcome your grief,” Shockwave finished. Not even a hitch or rise in his voice. It really was like fucking an emotionless machine. But Starscream didn’t care–so long as Shockwave kept doing that special alternating angle thrusting, that was all that mattered.

Starscream dropped his cheek against the slab, drooling a small puddle. Optics hard to keep open. Impossible to focus. He’d surrender happily to Shockwave like this; let himself be used, beaten and broken a little. It was actually helping, but maybe not in the intended way. The laser serving as Shockwave’s second hand, moving up and down his back, between and along his wings–it didn’t scare him. The idea of being petted and played with by a loaded weapon once did–with Megatron. That never did change, even when Megatron made it clear he was simply taunting his SIC.

Starscream usually overloaded with a loud cry, clenching down and clinging, wrapping all his limbs around his partner and riding it out. But this time he simply went tense a moment, gasping soundlessly, but still climaxing just as hard. Shockwave stopped his thrusting, allowing the Seeker to finish. When he was done, Starscream melted back into the table, a mess running down his thighs and the back of his heels.

“Tell me,” Shockwave said, his optic warm on the back of Starscream’s head, “do you wish for me to overload inside of you or not?”

Starscream gulped. “D-Doesn’t matter… How m-much longer…”

“By my calculations… Twenty more minutes.”

Starscream dropped his face against the slab.


	37. IDW: Firestar/Nautica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avengersemhwasp1 asked: "Nautica/Firestar. Nautica is fixing a control panel in a vent and her lower end is sticking out of the vent in a hallway. Firestar comes by and sees her sticking out and decides to take the opportunity that is presented and frags Nautica silly. Nautica gets moaning and it echoes thru the ventwork."

“Solus, the wires are such a mess.”

Firestar exvented, checking her chronometer. She looked at Nautica across the room. Nautica’s top half was wedged inside an open vent as she worked on the fixing… God, Firestar couldn’t remember. She’d been repairing the damn panel for nearly an hour now, and Firestar was getting impatient.

“Just promise you’ll fix it in the next thirty minutes,” Firestar pleaded, sitting back on the bench. The room was tiny, and Nautica’s rear was… very close to Firestar’s face. Not that she minded; Nautica had a nice aft. But she had made plans with her amica endurae that evening, and wasn’t keen on breaking them.

“You can go without me, Star,” Nautica reassured, binding two shredded wires.

“You’re always trying to get out of these things,” Firestar huffed, glowering at Nautica’s behind. “Besides, it’s just a little get together. Rosanna and Glyph are throwing a party after officially becoming amica endurae. They only invited me, you, Astroscope, and Cryostase. Glyph and Astro are _huge_ nerds, so you’ll get along with them fine.”

“I just don’t want you to feel you’re forced to stay here,” Nautica explained.

“It’s to keep you company. S'what amica endurae do.”

Nautica smiled. “Yeah, true.” Even if that also meant going to parties they had no interest in, to support their friend. Firestar was also hoping to introduce her to more friends, to get Nautica out of her shell. “Well, Firestar, got some good news,” she said, quickly reconnecting the last three wires. “I’m all done!”

Firestar bumped a fist, mouthing a wordless “yes!” “C'mon, glitch,” she said, standing, flames on her head flaring. “Let’s get you polished up then go party!”

Nautica nodded. “Yup.” She braced her hands against the walls, using them to push herself out. “Just a second…” Except… nothing happened. She pushed a little harder, but armor and kibble along her back and shoulders got in the way. Armor that could not be removed properly at this angle.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Uhh…” Nautica shoved and wiggled a few more times. “I’m… sorta… stuck.”

“Stuck?” Firestar gawped. “How’d you even get in there in the first place!”

“I just–crawled in! I don’t know!”

“Well, can we take the wall apart a little?”

“No way! We’d get into so much trouble!” Nautica disagreed, shaking her head. “Why don’t you try pulling me out? I might dent a few things, even tear my pauldrons, but… Well, the show must go on.”

Firestar nodded. She took Nautica by the legs. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

Firestar started pulling. Nautica struggled, until the pain shooting and jabbing through her torso was unbearable. “S-Stop! Stop!” she cried, dropping her fhead. Venting heavily as her spark skipped and jolted in her chest.

“Why don’t we call maintenance?” Firestar suggested.

“Maintenance isn’t here,” Nautica exvented low and long. “That’s why they asked me instead.”

Firestar stamped her foot, pouting. “Well… I’m sure one of them could come back. Or we could call an ambulance. There’s a clinic a few blocks away. So long as we’re out in forty-five minutes, we’re good.”

Nautica groaned. “I suppose. But I can’t comm anyone from inside this thing. Blocks signals.”

“Mm'on it, bot,” Firestar chuckled, opening a commlink. Nautica, ashamed with her face buried in her hands, listened to her friend explain the situation. A minute later, she closed the transmission, and now Firestar sounded grumpy. “They said it might take about thirty minutes to get here, maybe more. I don’t think she took me seriously.”

“Just go to the party without me, Star.”

Firestar rolled her optics, flopping over Nautica’s rump and resting hands on her back. “We’re stuck. You in there, me with you,” she snorted, half-grinning. “If they take any longer, I’ll ring up Rosanna and explain what’s up. The party ends before night simulation anyway, and that’s in four hours.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Firestar was about to say something, when suddenly an idea struck her. One that made the fire crackling from her helm brighter and stronger. “No need to apologize, Nautica,” she said, cupping her friend’s aft. “I think I know what we can do while we wait for help to arrive.”

Nautica’s optics flickered, twin beams of blue light in the dark shaft. “… By the, uh, hand on my aft,” she gulped, “I’m assuming…?”

“Eyup.”

“Like this?” Nautica squeaked. “B-But–”

“No, no, it’s perfect,” Firestar chuckled, tapping her fingers on Nautica’s panel. The purple bot jumped. “Unless you don’t wanna, and we just… stand here and complain.”

Nautica chewed her lip. “W-Well… I mean… I guess it’d be… interesting?” Firestar was always trying to get her try and do new things. Maybe this qualified as one of them? “Okay, but! The moment I hear someone on the other side of those doors–”

“–Right, right,” Firestar snickered, “cut me some slack. It’ll be great, trust me.”

Nautica trusted Firestar–with certain things. This… not so much. It’d be a first time for the both of them. Or, at least, Nautica figured it was. Firestar was known for having some interesting kinks, after all. She didn’t expect much out of this experience; it was probably going to be more awkward than pleasurable. Uncomfortable, given her position.

… Nautica had been wrong before. Because what did start as weird and slightly discomforting fondling and prepping turned into something too ridiculously incredible for a situation like this. Firestar was soon holding her hips, lining herself up to Nautica’s channel before sliding inside, inch by inch. Nautica gasped, slamming a fist against a wall; the vibrations rattled through the entire shaft, metal wobbling.

Firestar was much more skilled when it came to interfacing. Nautica had done her fair share of fragging, but not nearly on the same level as her amica endura. She knew what to do to have a pretty good time, but this… Interfacing with Firestar was always a wild ride. This took the cake, and Nautica wasn’t exactly sure why. It couldn’t have been her own slight exhibitionist streak; she was a mostly introverted person. But Nautica knew the sounds she was making were loud enough to travel through the shaft and out the vents into rooms, some with probably really confused people inside.

“S-S-Solus, Firestar, oh mm–” Nautica whined, panting. Firestar was fully seated inside of her; sometimes slamming half in, half out, other times pulling out to the tip then thrusting, over and over again. The pace was too fast, unpredictable, and all Nautica could do was cry and whimper and clumsily shake her bottom half in Firestar’s arms.

Nautica could just imagine Firestar’s unit–red, orange, with blue biolights along the shaft and top of the head. The heat of their light radiated against her channel walls, wet and expanding to take more of the fiery bot. Her channel, obscenely open and dripping so much lubricant; she could feel it on her thighs, down her legs, and wondered just how big a puddle she’d made so far. Fun explaining that to the EMTs when they came around. Nautica might have complained, but all that she could say was Solus and Firestar’s names, peppered with plenty of profanities and mewls.

“Y-You open s-so nicely for me,” Firestar sneered, chewing on her tongue. Bending over the purple bot, one hand still holding a hip as the other steadied itself against the wall. She snapped her hips faster, repressing laughter at the loud squeals coming from inside the shaft.

Nautica was rocking hard and fast, the armor and kibble keeping her stuck in the hole pounding against its edges. Didn’t hurt–at least, she couldn’t feel any pain. Nothing strong enough to tear her hazy, spinning mind from all the heat and sensations racing from her channel through the rest of her frame. “F-Fire-s-star,” she stammered, crossed optics lidded and tongue hanging from her mouth. Fingers digging into the walls at her sides intensely enough to dent the metal. It was getting far too humid in this shaft, making her even more dizzy. Two stories above, a Camien was peeking inside their vent, wondering about the strange muffled noises.

“Scrap, Nautica,” Firestar snarled, watching her unit move swiftly in and out of the purple bot’s channel. Never too much; the wet, clanging noises as her pelvis hit her aft not nearly as loud as Nautica’s yelping. “Could do t-this all day.”

Nautica vented out a string of oh-oh-ohs, coolant spittle flying from her lips and dangling tongue with each violent sway of her body. She grabbed her chestplates, finding a seam and probing it with two fingers. The low groan she made was fairly embarrassing, but only about three or so people heard it. No one could see her, thankfully, and she couldn’t hear anyone above or below complaining or questioning or suggesting checking the shaft for the source of the moans.

“You m-make such filthy s-sounds,” Firestar grinned, teeth clenched. She reached down, thrusting a finger beneath Nautica’s hood and stroking the node alongside her unit.

Nautica screamed, vision going white. Her visor snapped into place over her head. A second later, she heard a faint voice coming from below: “I-Is someone up there?”

“F-Firestar, Firestar,” Nautica croaked, “I’m gonna–harder, just a little–”

Firestar snarled. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just–”

The two overloaded, almost at the exact same time, give or take a few seconds. Firestar howled, tugging and yanking on her friend. Nautica cried out again, jerked just hard enough–both bots squealed as Nautica suddenly tumbled out of the hole, hitting Firestar and knocking them to the ground a few feet away.

Nautica slowly sat up, Firestar’s depressurized unit limp against her thigh. She glanced back at the red-yellow bot, blinking behind her visor.

Firestar snorted, then started laughing. “Your visor!”

“That was… What?” Nautica giggled, pushing the visor back. “How in the Forge…” She looked around, awed and baffled.

“Well,” Firestar exvented, “I think we can call off the ambulance.”

“Yeah,” Nautica agreed, wiping her optics dry. “You do that. I’m gonna… find some cleaner. And a mop.”


	38. IDW: Nickel/Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "May I request a Tarn/Nickel with some size kink and facesitting with Nickel topping? If that's alright!"

“You know,” Nickel exvented, frowning. She turned the remote in her fingers, listening to the low buzzing coupled with Tarn’s throaty moans. “Sometimes I swear you do all these naughty things just for the punishment.” Nickel shook her head, tsking. “Getting yourself hurt and causing unnecessary trouble, and then forcing me to teach you a lesson.”

Tarn struggled and shivered beneath the Mini-Con sitting on his chest. Unable to say anything coherently; plenty noisy, however. Probably had to do with the cuffs restraining him to the slab, and the vibrator in his channel. It was connected to the smaller egg-shaped toy wound to the head of his leaking, erect unit. The remote to both in Nickel’s hands as she glared, unimpressed, at her heaving patient.

“And your apologies never feel sincere,” Nickel grumbled. She licked her lips, optics flushed. Her own channel wet and flaring from arousal from watching Tarn, pressurized unit pushing against her panels. “But I know another way you can tell me you’re sorry. You’ll use your tongue, too, but this time a bit… differently.”

Nickel slid down Tarn’s chest, standing on either sides of his neck. Tarn stared up between her legs from lidded optics, vision hazy with lust. “I do trust you, Tarn. Even when you make me worry about you and the team. I trust you won’t hurt me, especially with your unique powers. You promise not to hurt me?”

Tarn swallowed. Nodded once.

Nickel smiled. She opened her panel, just as the bottom half of Tarn’s mask retracted. He opened his mouth wide, tasting her lubricant on his tongue as it dripped from her channel. Her engine revved, short, fat unit twitching. “Yes,” she sighed, steam puffing past her lips, “now that’s much better.”

Nickel showed Tarn the remote as she switched the vibrators to their highest setting. Before Tarn could even let out a scream or cry, Nickel planted herself firmly on his face, grinding her channel against his coolant-slick hips.

Tarn took a moment to adjust to the stronger jolts and vibrations before hungrily licking her channel; first the folds, her hood, then pushing it inside, gulping a mouthful of lubricant.

Nickel whimpered, biting down hard on her bottom lip. She nearly dropped the remote, swiftly placed it in a spare compartment. “Tarn!” she whined, grabbing onto his helm and leaning forward. Rolling her hips and channel desperately into his probing tongue. It lapped and stroked her mesh folds, anterior nodes and deeper sensors. Nickel was open mouth venting, optics crossing; she’d interfaced with Tarn and her teammates before, but never like this. Her head felt light, as if it were about to float off her shoulders.

“Oh, T-Tarn!” Nickel wailed, her little body revving and grinding faster and harder. Her struts and actuators were aching. She’d never felt so needy before, but Tarn’s tongue… Damn, why’d they take so long to do this? This might have been the best thing she’d felt in her entire life. “By Mi-Micronus!” Nickel’s blue optics flashed and sparkled, apertures dilated. “Frag! Frag!”

Tarn overloaded from his unit first, transfluid spilling along his chest. Nickel was first and foremost a medic; even lost in her pleasure, she still took out the remote and switched off the small vibrator. Tarn thanked her by angling his tongue just right, and licking the nodes there. Nickel wailed, crying out a string of profanities.

After subspacing the remote again, Nickel took her unit in hand, stroking it just as sloppily. Her little fingers dug and scratched at Tarn’s mask, but only peeled back a few thin lines of paint. Tarn’s dim optics narrowed and he growled; the vibrations shooting through Nickel reached her spark, but not in a way that damaged or harmed her.

Nickel threw her head back with a cry, squeezing her unit tight and bruising. She would scold Tarn later. Maybe. The DJD leader chuckled and went back to work, tongue matching the same intensity and speed as the medic’s.

Tarn slowed down, stopping for a split-second during his channel overload. Nickel wasn’t so kind this time–she turned the vibrator on the lowest setting instead of simply switching off. Tarn groaned, but hardly sounded upset or offended. His hips just weakly twitched and bucked, numb enough for the moment he couldn’t even feel the toy still moving inside of him.

Nickel looked down at her abdomen, occasionally watching the plating tremble. Tarn’s tongue was large, impaling her, and she wondered if the damn bastard was going to eat her spark for a moment. She clenched down on it; even malleable, his tongue was still too thick for someone her size to do more than pinch. “D-Don’t be b-bad,” she teased, rubbing her chubby unit against his mask, beneath his scarred optic. Tarn merely purred, twirling his tongue.

Tarn ground the top of his arched tongue against her node, sweeping and massaging, and Nickel squealed as she overloaded. Energon from her unit splattered across Tarn’s mask; not very much. But her channel’s overload–for a second, the DJD leader had a hard time catching up swallowing all the transfluid she was releasing.

“Frag scrap slag!” Nickel howled, tensing up. Stars exploded in a universe of white behind her optics. Her CPU gave her a warning ping. She didn’t even notice she was falling off Tarn’s face until a large hand cupped her back, held her up. Nickel shook herself from the daze, blinking at the very hand keeping her upright. “You…” She glanced at the broken cuff; exvented and rolled her optics. Figured.

Tarn gently picked her up, placing her on his chest. She snorted, swatting his hand away; she was fine. “Did you enjoy yourself, Nickel?” Tarn asked, wiping transfluid from his lips with a thumb.

Nickel shrugged, feigning apathy. “So as not to wound your poor fragile ego,” she sniffed, closing her panels, “I’ll say yes.”

Tarn chortled, and she felt that in her spark, too. Warm and ticklish. “You’re too kind, medic,” he sneered.


	39. TFP: Predaking/Starscream (Darksteel and Skylynx)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> distant-little-lights asked: "Predaking / Starscream + and also the other two predajocks were there too."

Everyone can be reasoned with. Everyone can be bought. Sometimes the price was much too high, but Starscream clearly had no other options. It did take a while–after some flitting and running about, avoiding attacks–but the Seeker managed to convince Predaking and his loyal subjects to spare his life.

And then some.

Predaking was a king, after all, and while it wasn’t necessarily power he wanted, it was order, a new start to a world befitting of his kind. The Decepticons and Autobots, all guilty in his eyes, but now it was time for a change. Peace, but with an iron fist.

Starscream was all too glad to support his new leader. All too glad to help him break in his new throne, too. A part of him that once respected but equally loathed Megatron still lived on–as revenge, he could smear his former Master’s name in the mud; one last act of betrayal. It was not idyllic, but so very little of Starscream’s plans ever were.

Of course, Starscream just needed to seal the deal. He could talk the big talk, but he had to walk the big walk as well. That would be fine. To show his worth and loyalty, Starscream was all too ready to debase himself before the Predacon king.

It… didn’t actually bother him that much. Starscream would have a long conversation with himself about this later.

Starscream was on his knees between Predaking’s legs, the giant sitting stiffly in the throne and glaring coldly down at the Seeker. Not a single actuator in his face twitching, even as Starscream held his unit in both his long-fingered hands, stroking and petting and licking.

“My my,” Starscream cooed, lovingly nuzzling against the unit, “I dare say, you might be the most… impressive specimen I’ve seen.”

“Don’t call him a ‘specimen,’ rustbucket!” Darksteel spat, raising a fist.

Starscream winced.

“Aw, look,” Skylynx smirked, “you scared the old bot.”

Starscream opened his mouth, ready to snarl and hurl insults, but quickly remembered his place. Predaking said nothing, but at least he was half-mast now. It was working; the younger Predacons were not important. Not right now.

“Y'sure you wanna stick your unit in that decrepit geezer?” Darksteel asked Predaking, sneering.

Skylynx chortled, “Who knows how many viruses he’s picked up over the years. _Billions_ of years.”

“ _I am not_ –” Starscream bit his tongue at Predaking’s growl. Focus. He smiled weakly, wings drooping. “… Not diseased, that is.” He tittered. Predaking snorted as his cohorts giggled like juvenile idiots. “But with age comes experience, Master,” the Seeker purred, red optics glimmering, “allow me to show you all that I’ve learned.”

Starscream rose gracefully to his feet, tall and proud, putting on a show. Darksteel rolled his optics. The Seeker slid up onto Predaking’s lap–this was not the first time he’d “sat” on a throne. He just wished he could do so more… directly. Starscream slid his panels open, hooking two fingers inside and quickly spreading himself. It wouldn’t take very long; his body was used to the adjustments, and seeing Megatron’s face–before the fall, before the Terrorcons–in Predaking’s helped Starscream along, gathering up a nice amount of lubricant. Much to his dismay, of course.

“Make sure your joints don’t lock up, gramps,” Skylynx taunted.

Gramps? Where in the Hell did that little– Starscream withdrew his fingers, shivering. He ran his tongue down one claw, licking away the lubricant. Predaking didn’t look interested, but his unit certainly was. Starscream braced his hands on Predaking’s shoulders, aligning himself. He invented, blocking the snickering from the younger Predacons behind him.

Starscream stopped, thought a moment. “If I may…”

Predaking cocked a browplate. However, he allowed the Seeker to turn around. Skylynx and Darksteel were also confused, curious. Starscream parted his folds, showing his exposed, wet channel to them, the node barely visible. They looked shocked, and Skylynx gulped audibly.

With a cool leer on Starscream’s face, he lowered himself down on Predaking’s unit. It was larger than any other, but he could take it. He was no stranger to rough play. He slid down the head, and the Predacon growled and wiggled beneath him. Slowly taking an inch, then another, and he loved watching the younger Predacons’ faces. Awed and shocked to see how much this small, thin little Seeker could take, until he was just halfway down on the fat unit.

Starscream smirked, and started moving.

Predaking snarled, hands instantly latching onto Starscream’s hips. Starscream did all the work, of course, rising and lowering off the unit on his knees. Unable to suppress the groans and gasps.

Darksteel stumbled closer to Skylynx, neither unable to look away.

Starscream’s knees were getting sore fast–dammit–but he wouldn’t show any pain. He placed his hands on Predaking’s legs and used them to lift himself up, back down, opening himself wider with each pump. The claws in his sides dug into armor, scratching.

Starscream glanced over his shoulder, venting. “Do you… like it, Master?” He grinned.

Predaking scowled, and bucked off the throne. Starscream wailed and locked up. The Predacons watching got a good laugh at that. Predaking continued riding into him, increasing the pace, and once the surprise and pain wore off… Starscream groaned, sinking back against the giant, his chest warm. Predaking took him by the thighs, opening his legs. A better view for his audience, actually, and they stopped their snickering.

Starscream was starting to fall apart. This wasn’t how it was suppose to go. He was doing so great; taking charge, doing all the work, impressing and baffling the two dumbfounded morons. But it–felt so ridiculously good. He gasped and whimpered, watching the unit just slap and slam into him with slight horror. Horror that, once again, he’d been outdone.

Starscream gasped, reaching back and tearing at the throne over Predaking’s shoulders, along his armor. His optics squeezed shut, a little drool wetting his lips with each yes-yes-yes that strained and whined past his mouth. And the Predacons were laughing at him again–so needy, so desperate, so easy. But Starscream had blocked them out, overwhelmed by the immense amount of pleasure in every inch and circuit of his sinewy frame.

“Look at this geezer,” Darksteel sneered, “Predaking’s gonna split that rusty aft apart.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t broken into pieces already,” Skylynx snorted.

“Yes! Master!” Starscream wailed, chewing on a knuckle. Tear him apart. Wreck him into pieces. Frag him until he saw Primus. That would totally be okay right now. He leaned forward, slamming his hips down, helping Predaking along. He cried out, spittle rolling down his chin, optics wide. Better, so much better; so much better, that–

“Don’t snuff his spark, boss! It’s fragile!” Skylynx shouted. Darksteel cackled and slapped him on the back.

Starscream overloaded, clenching down on the unit. Predaking didn’t stop, only went faster. Starscream shivered and whimpered, air hissing through his vents before going slump against his new leader. Tired and shaken, he still had energy and stamina left, despite what the Predacons were saying. He just… needed a moment to rest. Catch up. And it was kind of nice, melting into Predaking’s large arms, a new charging building as he continued pumping into his channel.

Starscream giggled against his claws, lidded optics flashing. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	40. RiD: Strongarm/Windblade (guest star: the Funbug!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avengersemhwasp1 asked: "Strongarm/Windblade. Windblade decides to introduce Strongarm to the "Funbug". :)"
> 
> A little backstory for anyone who hasn’t read [Joyous Jelly](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10618566): the Tharkorosian Embra aka the Funbug is a type of large alien sex toy that resembles a centipede, only with nubs instead of legs. It is remote controlled and has multiple uses. It looks and feels like jelly–pink jelly. The inspiration for the Funbug comes from a hentai picture I saw years ago, and wish I could find again lol.

When Windblade showed Strongarm the Funbug for the first time, explained its functions, Strongarm immediately asked if it was legal.

“It’s kept me company on some long, lonely nights,” Windblade confessed, holding up the giant toy. It was almost the entire size of her body; a pink, gelatin mass with nodules lining its sides. It reminded Strongarm a little of a centipede she’d seen on this planet. “I never brought it up because, well… I had you.”

Strongarm’s optics flashed, turning a little violet. She couldn’t help but smile.

“But now that we’re bonded and closer than ever,” Windblade continued, “I figured now would be the time to introduce you to my good buddy here.” She exvented, patting the Funbug. “Lotsa great times we’ve had, my Funbug and I.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Strongarm said, browplate cocking, “it just…”

“Don’t be so skeptical, skeptibot,” Windblade smirked, winking. “Just give it a chance. I’d really love to see it on you. I’ll be having my own fun in the corner, if you know what I mean.”

Strongarm cleared her throat. “Well…” She still seemed a little dubious, but then Windblade was flashing her the puppy eyes. Goddammit, couldn’t resist those. “Sure. But! If I don’t like it, we don’t use it ever again, okay?”

“Of course!”

“Now how does it work?”

Windblade helped Strongarm lay out on the cool earth until she was comfortable. That was imperative. She stretched the long, jiggling Funbug over Strongarm’s frame. Strongarm went tense beneath it; the texture felt weird on her armor, and it was also a little wet? But she trusted Windblade, who guided her arms to her sides.

“Now, if for any reason you want to stop,” Windblade said finally, standing. She showed Strongarm the remote. “Just ping me on our private commlink. I’ll switch it off, no questions asked.”

Strongarm nodded, lips a tight thin line.

“Relax,” Windblade purred, stroking Strongarm’s cheek, “you’re gonna love it.” Her smile was so warm and genuine, Strongarm felt her spark swirl in her chest, confident and touched.

“This is a newer version, like I said, so it works pretty hard, and pretty fast,” Windblade reminded. She sat nearby Strongarm, fingering hovering over the remote’s buttons. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Strongarm said firmly, “ready! Let’s do this!”

Windblade beamed. “Perfect!” And hit the buttons.

Strongarm was still surprised by what happened next, even though Windblade had explained everything beforehand. Ropes sprung from the nodules, coiling and tightening around her body, restraining her arms already at her sides. The gelatin spread like a bar between her legs to keep them open. Its top extended into a tentacle-like appendage, pushing inside her open mouth. She choked; went deeper than she expected.

Panel already open and prepped, the rear of the Funbug grew two more tentacles. It started vibrating–just a little at first, then fast, and faster, and Strongarm’s entire body shook with it. One of the bottom tentacles thrust into her channel; she cried into the jelly tendril, head thrown back. The second tentacle, however, drew smaller, ribbon-thin little extensions from its edge. They seeped under her channel hood, latching on and wrapping around her node. Tugging and squeezing until Strongarm was moaning and jerking.

Windblade vented, optics and cheekplates flushed with heat. She watched with a wide smile on her face.

The tentacle in Strongarm’s mouth started pumping as well. She felt more of the jelly creeping into her seams, warming up. The Funbug finally hit its highest speed, and Strongarm suddenly went limp and paralyzed in its grasp. Optics wide and face twitching. She almost looked terrified, and Windblade wanted to comm her– No, this was less fear than it was shock. She’d been rendered in a daze–this toy, this strange alien sex toy, was the best interface she ever had. And it was only starting.

Strongarm shook her head, wailing and writhing again. Windblade sat back, hand between her legs. Pushing her panel aside and taking her unit, pumping it clumsily. “P-Primus, Strongarm,” she croaked, licking her ruby lips, “s-should I be j-jealous of this thing?”

It was always a pleasure and joy to watch Strongarm come undone when the two interfaced. Her noises, the way she wiggled and begged. Nothing like the staunch, perfectionist soldier on the field. It was just as cute as it was sexy, and Windblade was glad she had the honor of making Strongarm feel so damn good.

But Windblade had never seen Strongarm move like this before. She was jerking and bucking so fast, it was almost a blur of white and blue. New, but very hot, and Windblade started stroking herself harder. The noises were also a bit different, and not just because she was gagged; higher pitched, more desperate, obviously screaming for more, yes-oh-Primus, unashamed.

It was filthy. Windblade moaned.

Strongarm had already overloaded once, but didn’t have the time to rest. She still enjoyed it–in fact, it was so strong, she’d momentarily lost vision and almost stalled down. But the Funbug continued pounding away, in her channel, in her mouth, its grip around her node loosening and squeezing over and over again.

Strongarm was humping into the air, watching the Funbug work inside her. Her optics crossed, tongue rolling along with the tentacle fucking her throat.

“Primus, S-Strongarm,” Windblade growled. She dropped forward, bracing one hand to the ground. Jerking her unit, now wet with trickles of transfluid. “Seeing y-you like this…” Maybe she should have introduced the Funbug earlier?

Strongarm had lost count of the overloads she’d had. But she could see the transfluid and lubricant she released inside the Funbug, as if it were collecting it. Her vision was hazy, and she wished she could open her mouth wider, just to take more of the tentacle massaging the tender mesh walls and actuators of her throat. Strongarm knew the face she was making was obscene, a little embarrassing, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered, just this wonderful toy turning her entire body inside out in the best of ways.

Windblade was close to her own climax; when she looked up, she watched the collected fluid in the gelatin body travel closer to the top. Toward Strongarm’s mouth. The tendril in her throat opened its pores, freeing the transfluid. Strongarm squealed, gulping it all down as fast she could, her throat bulging with each swallow and thrust of the tentacle. She overloaded for the nth time; the appendage withdrew, and she hadn’t noticed just how damn deep the thing was until all of it unfurled from her mouth. It saved enough of the transfluid to squirt on her face and gaping mouth, venting and trembling through the newest overload.

Just this sight alone–Strongarm, fucked into exhaustion, panting, her face covered in her own fluids, throat clicking as she licked and gingerly swallowed the rest shot in her mouth– Windblade cried out, hold tight to her unit as she overloaded. Hips bucking as she gushed transfluid all over the ground, her lap, some up her torso.

Windblade managed to turn the Funbug off before collapsing onto her side. Strongarm was still a shivering mess; even as the ropes and tentacles retracted back into its pink body, she couldn’t close her legs or lift her arms. Extra transfluid dripping from her trembling channel walls. That awed, shocked expression never leaving her sticky, stained face.

Windblade opened their private commlink. _Doing okay there, Strongarm?_

After a moment’s silence, Strongarm replied: _I think I died._

 _Nope._ Windblade smiled crookedly. _Still stuck with me._


	41. TFP: Megatron/Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> distant-little-lights asked: "I would like Meg/SS (primeverse) where the prompt is bad sex. More specifically awkward sex. Where things happen but they're doing their best to keep the mood going. There should probably be some kvetching on both their parts."

It all started out the same.

Megatron and Starscream got into an argument (one-sided, more so), got a little rough (again, one-sided more so), and inevitably built a raging charge that needed to be taken care of in the privacy of their chambers. Megatron’s room today; they left, angrily but professionally, wishing to continue this heated debate elsewhere. The Vehicons and Eradicons completely believed them, but Soundwave knew they were full of shit.

It continued on as normal.

Megatron slamming Starscream down on his slab, tearing his claws down the thin, curvy frame; threatening to shred through his armor at any moment, leaving behind scratches and peeled paint. Starscream would beg and plead, though there was no real fear in his cries. He’d wriggle about until one hand took both of his, pinned them above his head; Megatron’s free hand forcing open his panels and roughly thrusting a large clawed finger into the Seeker’s already fairly wet channel. A little prepping, a little teasing, a little threatening, then Megatron would finally thrust inside, hungry and snarling and nearly folding his second in command beneath him.

Not even five minutes into fucking Starscream senseless on his obscenely large unit, Megatron came to a sudden halt, yelling out in… pain?

Starscream blinked big, red optics, immediately torn from the moment. “M… Master?” he stammered. “Is everything all right?”

Megatron looked furious. More than usual, and Starscream could definitely tell. He was also starting to get uncomfortable, impaled on Megatron’s stiff unit, the charge raging in his spark and loins now starting to ache with need.

“My right hip,” Megatron growled, “has locked up.”

Starscream gaped. “Are you… You can’t move?”

“Does it look like I can move, Starscream?”

Starscream winced, rubbing his wrists together in Megatron’s hand. “I, uh…” What could he say? Call Knock Out? Absolutely out of the question. Both were too prideful to be caught in this position. Megatron especially with his bad hip. “Perhaps… We wait a few minutes?”

Megatron tried moving his hip. Snarled and nearly crushed Starscream’s fingers. “It… will take more than a few minutes.” Code for: need medic, or I’m fucked–not in the way either of us want to be.

The two looked around the room, unable to meet each others gazes.

“If you let me go,” Starscream suggested, “we can change positions?”

“I cannot move, Starscream!” Megatron spat. “What part of that do you not understand?”

“I–I’m just trying to come up with a solution!” Starscream whined.

“You move.”

Starscream made a strange, snorted “bwuh?” sound. “I would, Master, but… As I am under you, pinned to the berth–”

“You’re useless, Starscream!”

Starscream frowned, optics crossing. “I–I’m only– Well, wait, no. I think… I think I can try…” Mustering up all his strength, Starscream writhed beneath Megatron, rubbing down on the unit. Too slow, too little, not good enough in the least for either. Starscream stopped a minute later, exventing. “No. I am afraid you are too heavy _but it’s good you’re very heavy you’re a powerful warlord anyone would be_ –”

“Shut up,” Megatron hissed. He looked to the door, optics narrowing. Maybe he should– “I have been the leader of the Decepticons for over four millennia!” he snarled, Starscream squealing in surprise. “I will not be defeated by a damn pulled actuator!” And with a cry of determination, Megatron tried moving his hip again. Straining and grinding his fangs, armor and plating rattling, quivering on top of his second. Starscream watching in complete awe.

All that struggling paid off. Megatron grunted, flopping forward.

Starscream’s optics darted around the room. “Did you… did you unlock your–”

“It’s fine,” Megatron grumbled, pushing himself back up. “But a change of positions is in order.”

Starscream tried to hide his irritation.

Megatron pulled himself slowly, carefully free of Starscream, letting the Seeker roll off the slab and scramble to his feet. The Decepticon leader stretched out on his back, inventing deeply. “Now,” he said, “we may continue.”

Starscream tapped a claw to his lips. “Master, that… Well.” He turned the claw to Megatron’s unit. It had gone limp.

“What?” Megatron barked. “This is–”

“–Nothing to be ashamed of, my Lord.”

“Shut up, Starscream!” Megatron roared. “Get me erect again!”

Starscream nodded quickly. He crawled onto the slab, between Megatron’s legs. Megatron grunted, “Mind the hip.” Starscream took the unit, pumping it one hand while nipping and licking at the head. Megatron groaned, starting to relax.

… Except ten minutes of Starscream thoroughly praising his leader’s unit yielded nothing. Still depressurized–not even slightly erect. Starscream was completely frustrated, and having a hard time hiding it now.

“Perhaps you pulled more than your hip, sir–”

“Perhaps it’s your technique, Starscream!” Megatron yelled.

“I couldn’t do more to stimulate it than I already am!” Starscream cried. “I can try doing channel play, maybe. That should–”

“No!” Megatron scowled. “Do not touch my channel.”

“If I may be so bold, Master, but may I ask why not?”

“You may not.”

Starscream’s optics crossed again. “I know for a fact it’s not damaged!” he huffed. “What is it, then? Do you not get off on your channel being used? Is it a problem with lub–”

“I said you were not allowed to ask!” Megatron interrupted hurriedly.

Starscream gasped. The lubrication–that had to be it. Megatron either had a difficult time producing lubricant, or simply couldn’t produce any at all. Starscream was delightfully tickled by this, but also still really aroused and it was hurting.

“My charge has run out anyway,” Megatron grunted, “it doesn’t matter now.”

Starscream wanted to unscrew his own head and beat Megatron in the face with it. “But I–”

“–Can take care of yourself.” Megatron gestured to the door. “Comm Knock Out, tell him to come to my quarters at once.”

Starscream’s optics rolled off in different directions as he screamed loud and endlessly inside his head.


	42. IDW: Helex/Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "I'm not sure if you're still doing these, but Tarn getting his valve eaten out by Helex please?"

There were few things in Tarn’s life that gave him a pure, visceral charge of arousal. One such thing was torturing and snuffing the sparks of traitors and Autobots alike. Not every time, no, but there were certain victims who screamed just right, who cried just right, who begged just right that got Tarn’s motors literally revving.

Tarn was fortunate to be surrounded by loyal teammates who respected their commander, and were ever so happy to help each other out. That included, but was not limited to, fucking each other into the ground, until their bodies were limp, all their energy wasted, over-stimulated but still wanting more. They’d gladly oblige each other in that, too.

The DJD leader was in the mood for “eating out.” His sense of humor was as dry and dark as it was crude and silly. Helex was the best for oral; while the second largest of the crew, his tongue happened to be the biggest. And the most skilled. So after finishing off their recent captive, Tarn nodded at Helex, and the two left quietly to some place private.

Tarn made himself a cube of high grade before sitting on Helex’s face, channel open and engorged. Helex’s large hands held onto his hips, the second pair massaging and kneading into Tarn’s back, the closest seams and armor. Tarn moaned into his drink, taking a long swallow as it dribbled from the corners of his scarred mouth.

Helex’s tongue swirled inside Tarn’s channel, spreading the mesh walls. Lapping like a thirsty cyberfox for fuel. Using both tongue and nose to rub and pet and stroke his node. Sometimes he grazed it with his teeth, and Tarn liked that, rolling and grinding down harder to show his appreciation. He took another gulp of the cube, finishing half of it.

Helex told him his transfluid always tasted the sweetest when he’d drank plenty of engex. The DJD officer did have a unique palate.

Helex suckled on Tarn’s folds, his face slick and drenched in lubricant, smeared across his optics. He thrust his tongue up, moving it in the same fashion as a unit. Tarn growled, nearly dropping his cube; he collected himself, sitting up straight. Started bouncing enthusiastically alongside the probing tongue. Deeper and deeper, licking and petting nodes while always returning every few strokes to his anterior.

Tarn could feel the heat of Helex’s optics and biolights on his folds. They burned a little; he sunk down, wiggling; not very dignified for the Decepticon Justice Division leader, but no one was judging. Helex’s fingers caught seams, digging inside them and scratching.

Tarn almost choked on the last swallow of his engex before tossing it. Hands braced to the ground as he rode on the larger Decepticon’s tongue. Helex pulled him down a little, focusing all his attention on the anterior node. His tongue moving as fast as it possibly could, shooting vibrations through Tarn’s channel and into his spark. Tarn was weakening, trembling; he chewed his lip instead of whimpering, giving little approving grunts and coos.

Tarn went entirely stiff as he overloaded. His vicious snarl echoed in the dark room. Thighs spasming as he released, filling Helex’s open mouth with transfluid and lubricant. Helex gulped it down gingerly; Tarn could feel his chuckles against his plating.

When Tarn finished, he slumped forward again, lifting his hips; keeping his channel hovering over Helex’s messy face while the Decepticon licked up the remaining, dripping fluids.

“Well?” Tarn vented, red optics dim. “How was the taste?”

Helex wiped transfluid from his face, sucked it off his fingers. “Divine,” he smirked, “as always.”


	43. IDW: Nautica/slime monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quickie. i wanted to expand this into a real fic, but ehh. so i just made it this small drabble thing. 100% consented xeno.

Chromia and Windblade did warn Skids and Brainstorm that despite Nautica’s shyness, her goofy personality, she was insatiable. Not only to consume more knowledge, but with a curiosity so hungry it was willing to say or do anything for the answers. Emphasis on DO ANYTHING.

Initially, Chromia and Windblade hadn’t thought much about it. The planet was deemed safe to explore. Nautica wanted to collect some flora samples, take notes on any local fauna as well. Thunderclash allowed it while he and the others worked on repairing the ship. Windblade told her to be careful. Chromia told her not to trip and break her visor–again. Nautica just smiled and gave them a thumb’s up, clutching a datazine and stylus to her chest. Still beaming, she skipped and swayed off, eager to learn everything she could about this strange planet.

Time passed. Neither had suspected the real reason Nautica was so late. Chromia believed she did hurt herself. Windblade believed she got lost. They decided to go looking for her, hoping no matter the reason, their teammate was fine.

It didn’t take much bargaining and convincing to win Nautica over. She felt the slime monster was sincere; it had no intention of hurting her. It, too, was curious, and wanted to study this robotic alien. They both had similar goals and ideals. Yeah, sure, it might be sexual, but it didn’t matter. They were going to have a one of a kind experience. Just the two of them.

So Nautica allowed the slime monster to pour, shape, twist around her body, lay her back and fuck her open channel with a large thrusting “penis.”

Nautica moaned, taking a slimy white tentacle in each hand; she suckled and licked one, then the other, alternating. Sometimes she sucked down as hard as the dick pumping deep inside her. Sometimes she twirled her tongue and nipped. Sometimes it was shallow, playful, licking.

“Nnn, Solus!” Nautica sobbed, writhing in the semi-translucent slime coat. Two of its cocks had entered her channel, one in, one out, one fast, one slow, going completely uneven. So fast, so fast, Nautica was vibrating off the ground, wildly bucking her hips and grinding them in the air. “Ah, th-tho good!” she groaned around the tentacle rolling along her tongue. As the tentacle pulled out, Nautica’s lips stretched and sucked up, down, hollow–slurping obscenely while muttering about taste and texture and making other such pleased noises.

Nautica’s optics crossed as she came–squirting for almost two minutes straight into the air from her quivering, jutting thighs, messing both herself and her tentacled partner. Soon the alien climaxed, and every inch of Nautica’s body was drenched in green cum. It blew its wad in thick gobs down her face, in her open mouth, gushing out from her channel as its cocks wiggled free. It coiled up beside her, watched her; Nautica, stretched on the ground, shaking, rattling, venting, absolutely covered in alien semen.

“Then we found her just as the alien took her from behind,” Chromia says, finishing her third drink. “Let them have ten minutes before calling it off.”

Skids drops his drink. Brainstorm sighs, cupping his cheeks. “Ahh,” he purrs, “what a bot.”


	44. IDW: Whirl/Mirage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> distant-little-lights: WHIRL x MIRAGE from idw transformers please! flower = milk thistle!

“Scuttlebutt on the ship says you’re dangerous.”

Whirl chuckles, a playful, comical “ufufufu” as he pins Mirage onto his bar. Mirage goes willingly, razor-smiled. “That so?” Whirl hums. “Well, scutty-buttles on the ship says you’re a noble tightwad.”

Mirage cocks a browplate. “Is that all they say about me?”

Whirl presses against Mirage. “They also say you can’t be trusted,” he continues, dragging a pincer down Mirage’s chest, circling a hip, “and somethin’ of a backstabber.” Whirl drops his head forehead so the blue-white bot can feel the heat of his single optic on his cheek. “Now, you know me. I do love a good stabbing. But I prefer takin’ ‘em from the front. You get a better view of their faces that way.”

“Worried I might rip out your spark mid-coitus?” Mirage says, palming a hip.

Whirl shudders. “Post-coitus and we’ll call it a deal.” A panel pops open on Whirl’s arm, and he produces a cable between two claws. “Didn’t expect you’d be the type to frag in the work space.” He wiggles the cable in Mirage’s face.

Mirage snatches up the cable, presses it to his lips. Whirl stiffens. “It’s *my* workplace,” the Autobot says, and slides the cable’s connector into his mouth. “I can do whatever the Hell I want with it.” He starts sucking, and Whirl swears he sees stars. Might just be one of the many imaginary things he sees daily, however.

“Naughty, naughty,” Whirl swallows dryly, trying to keep composure. His pressurized unit is fighting beneath plating, begging to be freed. “Patience, little one.”

Mirage tilts his head, cable still in mouth. He grunts as he’s suddenly held down on his back, kicking away empty cubes. He laughs as Whirl mounts him, scraping open a panel on Mirage’s wrist.

“Didn’t think someone like you was into the old fashioned stuff,” Mirage teases.

“I’m fulla surprises,” Whirl smirks and winks. He knows he’s winking, that’s all that matters.

“Good,” Mirage says, spreading his legs, “it’s that reputation of yours I want the most.”

“Oooh, baby,” Whirl snickers, plugs their cables into respective sockets, “get ready: we’re goin’ straight to Funky Town.”


	45. IDW: Cyclonus/Tailgate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mountain-ghouls: For the Valentines fic meme, Cyclonus x Tailgate with “Rose, red and yellow together”? Your fics are so good I’m excited to see others that come in from this! <3

“It’s perfect!”

Tailgate is radiating excitement, blue visor glowing, hands waving in the air, tiny body vibrating. On the other hand, Cyclonus looks unimpressed, bored, sitting stiffly on the berth. The colorful symbols painted along his horns don’t exactly match the rest of him.

“I was really worried,” Tailgate chuckles, setting aside the brush and paint, “my hands, they’re still a bit shaky from… Well, I think I did a good job!” He produces a mirror, hands it to Cyclonus.

Cyclonus studies the paint job quietly. After a minute, he says, “You spelled ‘feast’ wrong.”

Tailgate scowls. “Dang.”

“It’s fine,” Cyclonus reassures. “It looks nice.”

Tailgate’s visor lights up again. “Ya think so?” he giggles. “It’s an old poem. Usually on the day of the spring festival, bots recite it to those they… well…” He looks away, scratching at his cheek.

“To the ones they love,” Cyclonus finishes. Tailgate nods shyly. “I’m aware. It was around during my time as well.” He lightly touches the base of a horn. “I figured old traditions would have died off by now…”

“We’re a couple of rustbuckets, though,” Tailgate smirks.

Cyclonus smiles. “That we are.”

“Think anyone else will recognize the poem?” Tailgate hums. “I hope we won’t be the only ones painted up for Swerve’s party.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s a poem shared between lovers, after all.”

Tailgate turns away, embarrassed.

“Have you heard of the ‘Eyes of Sola’?”

Tailgate looks back, curious. “No… Is that a poem, too?”

Cyclonus nods. He picks up the paint brush, dips it in some colorful blue. Tailgate stumbles as the larger bot gently pulls him closer. He starts to paint down his chest in swift, elegant strokes.

“It’s about a Cybertronian who thought he was dying; when he looked into the sun, he saw his conjunx endura’s eyes. Though a delusion of his weak mind, he suddenly found enough strength to fight his way to rescue. When he returned home, he told his conjunx what he saw, and so they turned the story into a poem. It’s shared between old lovers who’ve been bonded for centuries. 'No matter how far away you are, no matter if we’re separated, temporarily or eternally, I am always watching over you, always thinking of you, always urging you onward into the bright future.’”

Tailgate sniffs. “That’s…”

Cyclonus tuts, swats Tailgate on the head with a finger. Tailgate straightens up, and Cyclonus continues writing. “Would you like me to recite it to you?” he asks.

Tailgate feels warmth blossom in his spark. He places a small hand over Cyclonus’s on his knee. “Yes, please,” he sighs, content.


	46. G1/IDW: Inferno/Red Alert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that-lambo-though-nomnom: Inferno/Red Alert hibiscus ^.^

People just don’t appreciate Red Alert as much as they should.

Red Alert doesn’t have very many friends. He makes most everyone he comes in contact with uncomfortable. He’s paranoid, he’s cynical, he’s worrisome. To many, he’s what one would call a “buzzkill.” But Red Alert doesn’t mind, really, because he knows he’s important. He knows where his talent and intelligence lies. He’s great at what he does, and without him, everyone else would lose their heads. So what if he sort of lost his own in the process?

Inferno agrees, to some degree. It’s a shame so many don’t see what he sees. Red Alert is one of a kind. Red Alert’s smart, he’s diligent, he’s astute. He’s always got your back, even if he doesn’t entirely trust you. He’s cautious. Inferno likes it, because Red Alert is most everything he himself is not. It’s stabilizing, having the smaller mech at his side; he’s an anchor, pulling Inferno back to reality when he becomes too excited or lost in his wild passions. Inferno’s the first to admit he’s kind of dense, but that don’t bother him none.

“I may be different,” Red Alert huffs, “but I’m not delicate.”

Inferno knows this. Red Alert’s got problems, but he’s not broken. A lot of people walk on egg shells around him, afraid to upset him or set off his literal and figurative sirens. But Red Alert’s a good soul, a nice guy, and Inferno’s glad that he can see that side of him. Red Alert has trust issues, and for a long time, Inferno could never get too close. But that changed, eventually many centuries down the road, and Inferno proved to be more than just a best friend Red Alert could rely on.

“Frag!” Red Alert yelps, rocking on the bed. His knees scrape the metal, and Inferno nearly stops and pulls out.

“You okay, Red?” Inferno asks, concerned.

Red Alert grabs the edge of the berth. “F-Faster,” he growls lowly.

“Huh?”

“Faster!”

Inferno doesn’t need to be told twice. He keeps his one-handed grip on Red Alert’s hip as he dives inside him, deep and hard and yes, faster. Red Alert yowls, and Inferno almost stops again. Red Alert pushes back, reassuring him to continue. So Inferno does.

Another great thing about Red? He’s amazing in the berth. Always enthusiastic, always willing to try new things. Quite different than Inferno first imagined. Sure, sometimes he was hesitant and sometimes it took him a while to warm up, but Red Alert was… Well, it was with Inferno. It was okay to experiment; it was okay to let go. But not too much. Just enough while still remaining on guard.

“In-Inferno!” Red Alert whimpers, rolling his hips on the larger mech’s unit, “s-so… p-perfect. B-But little… little deeper…”

“Gotcha!”

Red Alert gasps as Inferno pushes in. He’s taking almost half of the fat unit. It’s impressive for someone of his size. He’s still a bit tight, but Inferno rubs his back and coos and helps him to relax. It’s nice, the way Red Alert visibly stretches out and unwinds beneath his hands. Inferno very carefully stretches over the smaller bot as he continues thrusting (not as fast, still too tight), pressing kisses to his neck and helm.

Red Alert moans into an arm, venting. He turns his head, feels Inferno’s lips brush the corner of his. Inferno chuckles, moving just so their lips can fully meet. They kiss; sweet, albeit sloppy. Inferno draws back to nuzzle their noses together. It’s adorable how Red Alert gets embarrassed and flustered at the cutesy cuddling, his optics turning a shade violet.

People don’t appreciate Red Alert as much as they should. But that’s fine by Red Alert. He’s got Inferno, and that’s enough.


	47. IDW: Thunderclash/Rodimus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ravenevasion asked: “Blue Roses” for Rodimus x Thunderclash?
> 
> Warning for dirty talk.

Rodimus fantasized about the way Thunderclash interfaced. A lot. He came to the following conclusion, after many days and nights of thinking, pondering, riding his fingers in the washracks: Thunderclash was a gentleman. He knew just what his partner wanted, just what they needed. He was perfect. He was patient. He was gentle and soothing. He was a true blooded romantic.

In the end, Rodimus wasn’t… entirely wrong.

Thunderclash very much knew what he was doing. Knew how to pleasure a bot thoroughly. But Rodimus had never really dreamed up a scenario where Thunderclash pinned him against the wall, fucked him so hard and fast the captain’s vision blurs. The most surprising thing of all, however–

“So wet, so tight,” Thunderclash smirks against Rodimus’s helm, holding the captain’s hands above his head. Rodimus vents, optics lidded. Thunderclash cups his hip, dents the metal with the tips of his fingers. “Open and pliant, and so quickly, too! How long have you been dreaming about this day? Or are you just an ‘expert’ at this?”

Dirty talking. Never in all his masturbatory fantasies–

“Tell me, Rodimus,” Thunderclash purrs against Rodimus’s throat, “how many of your crewmates have you fucked? Half of them? All of them?” Before the red-yellow Autobot can even muster a single word, Thunderclash bites down on a throat cable, drawing out a loud cry. Rodimus clenches down on his unit, and Thunderclash quickly spanks him–literally *spanks*–to relax. Rodimus obeys, and Thunderclash punishes him by thrusting faster and harder and it’s so much, too much, Rodimus can only drool and see double.

“Do you pass yourself around like shareware, dear captain?” Thunderclash chuckles. His hand moves down Rodimus’s abdomen, finds his anterior node and rubs. Rodimus yelps. “Spread out like some whore. Dripping and holding yourself open. Begging to be fucked until you can’t feel anything. Until you’ve overloaded yourself dry. You’re the prettiest when you’re a mess, after all.”

“Th… Thunderclash…” Rodimus gasps, tongue lolling from his mouth. It’s– He can’t think. He feels so good; this has to be another dream. Another fantasy. Then two fingers are shoved into his mouth, and Rodimus obediently sucks on them.

“Every orifice stuffed–that’s your preference, right? How many units can you take, soldier?” Thunderclash chuckles, and even now he still sounds so demure and charming. Even as his unit fucks Rodimus wide open, fingers thrusting down his throat and past his intakes. “But you never feel full, do you? It’s never enough. You’re just waiting for someone to come along, fill that void. Make you overload until you see stars.”

Thunderclash hums as he nuzzles his lips against Rodimus’s helm. “Maybe,” he says, licking the side of his chevron, “I might be able to plug that little hole?” He bucks his hips, and Rodimus cries, a gurgle around the fingers. “Yes. I think I could.”

Rodimus wants to tell Thunderclash yes. Yes, yes, yes, in breathy, demanding, desperate, pleading ways. He thinks he’ll be all right. He can… live with this. Rodimus never really considered Thunderclash to necessarily be some enigma. Some mysterious figure. Sure, he had that, but Thunderclash kept himself open and honest, and loyal, and he never held back the love and devotion he put into his beliefs, his people.

“Maybe later,” Thunderclash sneers, wrapping his hand tight around Rodimus’s throat, “I’ll let you choke on my unit ‘til you pass out.”

This was the mysterious side, Rodimus supposes. People say, leave it alone; don’t push your luck. But some mysteries are just begging to be exposed. Just like Rodimus on the floor, jammed against the wall and crying out Primus’s name.


	48. RiD: Strongarm/Windblade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avengersemhwasp1 asked: Strongarm/Windblade Lime Blossom.

“T-This is… so…”

Windblade winks, kneeling before Strongarm, hands braced on the blue-white bot’s thighs. “What?” the Seeker smirks. “Afraid we’re gonna get caught?”

Strongarm scowls, pressed against the wall. On the other side, Bumblebee is talking and sparring with the rest of his teammates.

“I mean, that’s where all the fun lies. Risking being expo–”

Strongarm hisses. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” she frets.

“Don’t worry, skeptibot,” Windblade reassures, licking her lips, “I’m gonna have my mouth full. It’s you who’s gotta bite their tongue.”

Strongarm’s faceplates heat up. “D-Dammit, Windblade.”

“If you wanna stop, just say it, and we’ll stop.”

Strongarm gulps. Despite her fear and shame, her unit is already half-mast when Windblade pushes aside her panels. The Seeker grins at that, but decides to save Strongarm any further embarrassment. Taking the base in her lithe hand, Windblade playfully licks the head, swirls her tongue around it, and Strongarm’s hand immediately flies to her mouth to muffle her cry. Bumblebee is shouting something only ten feet away. She can hear him–no doubt he’d hear her.

Windblade works the unit to full erection, bobbing it it in her mouth. God, she’s so damn beautiful, even when she’s– Strongarm bites the inside of her cheek, watching the way Windblade’s cheeks hollow as she sucks down, tongue still pressing and rubbing against her head. Windblade groans, deep in her throat, into the unit. She sits back, dragging her tongue up its length, looking into Strongarm’s optics like the mischievous little pervert she is.

Strongarm glares back, hand still over her mouth. She is not going to break.

Windblade takes Strongarm to the hilt, and Strongarm does make a sound. It’s not loud enough for the others to hear, but it’s like a deafening roar of thunder to Strongarm. She pushes both hands over her mouth, teeth clenched and optics narrowed. Her knees are weak and trembling. Windblade’s throat opens for her, flutters gently around the unit. It’s soothing, overwhelming.

No. Strongarm isn’t going to break. To prove it, she grabs the back of Windblade’s helm, surprising her, and starts thrusting into her mouth. Now Windblade’s blushing.

Both Autobots are known to be competitive with one another. Neither “lose” this game, however; when they finish, Windblade licking transfluid from her lips and Strongarm venting to cool her systems, they remain unheard. Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Grimlock, Fixit, all none the wiser.

Well, it’s hard to be a loser in this game anyway.


	49. IDW: Soundwave/Cosmos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> robotlovesong13 asked: For the Valentine's day fic meme: Cosmos x Soundwave "honeysuckle" 
> 
> robotlovesong13 also drew a piece for the fic! You can see it [HERE](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/170929758408/i-loved-the-valentines-fic-i-loved-how-you-had). (NSFW)

It’s funny. All things considered, it’s hilarious.

Soundwave holds Cosmos down, pressing him into the metal slab. The Autobot (so very funny) mewls and whimpers–it’s quite adorable–as he wiggles beneath Soundwave. He grabs at the Decepticon’s shoulders, claws blunt fingers down his chest. Clings and grapples as he spasms around Soundwave’s unit working inside his channel. Soundwave moves slow, deliberately; he quite enjoys teasing Cosmos. The Autobot’s cute when he’s flustered, which is pretty much all the time.

“S-Soundwave…!” Cosmos yelps, grinding into the unit. “P-Please… s'not f-fair!”

That makes Soundwave chuckle. He picks up the pace–at least for a few pumps, before slowing back down again. It’s equally hard on the Decepticon; Cosmos is adorable, pleading, begging for more, his blue visor lighting up the cramped quarters. But he’s just as delicious and delightful when he’s moaning as his entire body rocks beneath his partner, Soundwave thrusting fast and deep inside his warm channel.

It’s funny, Soundwave thinks, he never thought he’d feel this way. For anyone, actually. But of the one person to get under his armor… It’s a damn Autobot. Not only does he *care* about Cosmos, but he just might…

Cosmos pulls Soundwave down against him, holds him there. He starts rolling down. He’s run out of patience, and is now just getting annoyed. Soundwave’s face twists beneath his cold mask; the hot mesh and nodes rubbing and massaging his unit, vibrating and fast and clenching all around him. Lubricant spills down the edge of the slab.

It might be love. Soundwave doesn’t really want to think about it. Love–at least like this–has never been of any interest to him. It was a liability during war. Still is. But there is no denying the force that draws him to Cosmos that can’t be explained in any other way.

Besides, it’s cute when Soundwave tells the little Autobot he loves him. Like right now, where Cosmos suddenly stalls and gasps, entire frame growing hotter from embarrassment.

It might be love. That makes it all the more hilarious. But Soundwave knows this anchor will keep him here, by Cosmos’s side. He will protect this Autobot. He will watch over him. He will listen to him, he will comfort him. He will stay with him. Soundwave has lived all his life as a second shadow to others for so long. He doesn’t mind spending another doing just the same.

“‘Mm gonna–gonna overload,” Cosmos mewls. He sinks into Soundwave’s arms.

“Yes,” Soundwave says, voice even and calm. He thrusts in deep, holds himself there.

Cosmos vents, optic band glitching. “So… so close…” He rubs his masked face against the Decepticon’s. Nudging, nuzzling. A kiss. So sweet, so gentle, but so needy. It’s so cute. Soundwave’s engine purrs as he lightly “kisses” back.

Cosmos howls as he overloads, transfluid coating Soundwave’s abdomen.

They’re bound together by something. Love, maybe, even if Soundwave never thought he was capable of such a feat. Love’s a funny thing like that.


	50. Misc: Megatron/OFC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "human!vampire/Megatron, size kink"

Megatron had underestimated the humans.

Well, a _breed_ of them, anyway.

These creatures–-vampires-–were no ordinary humans. Stronger, faster, possessing unique skills and powers one would claim to be “magic.” Megatron had been fascinated by these vampires, and their so-called “immortality.” But like his race, they, too, could die, and their immortality was as fragile as the thin wire between life and death they walked on.

These creatures weaved spells. Hypnosis. And maybe that had something to do with Megatron’s infatuation with one certain vampire in question. Or maybe his fascination went a little more skin deep. A power both creatures could possess, and perhaps hold over the other. Love? Maybe. Weirder things had happened in his lifetime.

The vampire laid across the pile of blankets, surrounded by candles in the dark warehouse. Outside thunder and lightning shook the cloudy heavens and pelted down rain. Her naked body was pallor and cold to the touch, her lips plump and violet, and eyes so bright they were almost white. Though she looked only to be in her mid thirties, Megatron knew she was ancient. That he could relate to well.

The vampire groaned as he gently lapped his tongue between her legs, tasting her frigid but silky skin. Her body shivering against his tongue as she rolled her hips into them. The folds of her pussy hard, open and flared and needing. Megatron continued licking, at first curious in an almost scientific way, but then she started moaning and whimpering, and he’d quickly gotten lost and drowned in her delicious noises.

“Oh,” the vampire hummed, mouth agape, “if only I could… taste you properly…” Her tongue flicked across the elongated, sharp canines–milky white fangs, razor sharp. She wrapped her legs around as much of Megatron’s face as possible, moaning. Her painted claws tearing through the sheets and blankets as they bundled in her fists.

Megatron’s tongue licked faster and harder, its tip just barely pressing inside and lapping at her clit. The vampire gasped, rising off the bed in an arch. Lightning flashed outside the open window, across her glowing body. Megatron’s nose rubbed against her belly, and she grabbed and stroked it, holding on while she bounced down into the tongue. Wiggling and making those sensual cries that had Megatron reeling.

“Nnn,” the vampire panted, hair loose and pillowing her head, “yes, y-yes… harder!” She ground against the tongue, and Megatron obliged. Picking up the pace, stroking her belly with his nose as he licked her out, shallow then deep, shallow then deep.

The vampire came with a snarl, throwing her hands back. She knocked over a goblet. Blood, thick black and red, poured out on the floor, staining the sheets. After resting a moment, the vampire smeared a hand in the forming puddle, looked at it with a smile. Licked a few fingers clean, then dragged her hand down her throat, between her naked breasts to her belly, leaving behind a messy trail.

“Taste me,” the vampire breathed, eyes flickering.

Megatron lifted his head, tongue rising to wipe the blood from her belly, the edge just barely clipping the side of her face. The vampire wanted to bite him, but knew it would be foolish. She’d only break her teeth.

“A bit too bitter for my liking,” Megatron sneered. “But this…” He lowered his head, a finger playfully rubbing and stroking her folds. The vampire bit her lip, repressing a small cry. Megatron withdrew his finger, wet with her fluids. He licked it once, grinned. “Much sweeter.”


	51. BW: Destructon orgy

Time passed so slowly, yet so quickly, it became something of an abstract concept. It was easy to forget time even existed outside this Tartarus-like prison. But the Destructons never forgot, tracking every second, every minute of their captivity. And for every day that passed, more would die when they broke free, until the universe was laid to rest in dust and ash by their hands.

Although daydreaming and hoping didn’t always make things easier for the prisoners.

Lord Imperious Delirious knew many ways to keep his teammates calm. He knew many ways to distract them, outside of training, outside of mentoring them in ways of knowledge and wisdom. This exercise was always guaranteed satisfaction, and kept his fellow Destructons relaxed, sated, and occupied for a few hours or so.

It was also a beautiful thing to behold. Lord Imperious Delirious, sitting upon a throne he had carved and made for himself, watching his subjects writhe and couple in an undulating mound on the floor. Interfacing by every method. Cables plugged and strewn between heaving bodies, sparks displayed and exchanging precious energy. Fingers and units exploring and thrusting into channels.

Medusa crooned, low and sensual, holding Bruton’s face in her hands. The mech slammed his fists into the ground beside her head, but not to threaten. Snarling and spitting as he fucked deep into her channel. Medusa gasped, her bottom half wrapping up and around Bruton’s torso and waist, constricting like a hungry snake. Yanking and tugging him along, needing more, all the while laughing at the twisted, strained expression on his face. Medusa ran her forked tongue up Bruton’s face, over his optic, before plunging her tongue into his mouth and sealing them in a kiss. Her fingers digging and leaving behind shallow dents in his cheeks.

Psychokhan had been watching all of this, just like his leader, feeling remnants of their energy pass through the cables plugged into his comrades’ bodies. He laid back comfortably, snarling and grumbling to himself as he jerked his own unit. He clutched the grip of his sword tight enough to break before letting it go and standing on all four equine legs. Psychokhan trotted over, and Bruton winced when the top half of his centaur body mounted him from behind, until finally the warrior had access to his channel, violently thrusting inside.

Imperious had seen all of this before, in all the memories and data and information assimilated into his personality. Nevertheless, it always aroused him, even the most base of sexual acts. He sat back in his throne, wings spread and quivering like his legs. Tail whipping over his thigh, its pointed edge petting his panel aside. Imperious growled, raking claws down the armrests as his tail pushed inside the well-lubricated channel in a practiced rhythm. One he knew he’d like best. He tried to keep quiet, swallow down his groans, unlike his noisy, mewling comrades. Bucked and undulated his hips each time his tail hit a sweet spot, and rubbed clustered nodes.

Medusa’s tail unwound, just enough to find Psychokhan’s mouth and push inside. Psychokhan growled, nearly biting down on the thing, his hooves beating the ground. Relaxing, he started suckling, and the noises Medusa made had Imperious shivering and bouncing faster on his own tail. Just watching them and touching himself–it was enough to get him off.

Bruton was the first to overload, roaring as he bucked his hips faster and faster inside Medusa, the reptilian Destructon punctuating each thrust with a loud whimper. Medusa nearly choked Psychokhan on her tail, plunging it deep down his throat as she climaxed a few minutes later, twisting and wincing in Bruton’s limp hands. Psychokhan lasted a little longer, but when he overloaded, Bruton nearly collapsed on top of Medusa, channel filled with the warrior’s transfluid.

“Excellent,” Imperious leered, massaging the head of his unit.

Medusa whispered something into Psychokhan’s audiol. Bruton could hear them clearly enough, and soon all three were unplugging from each other, crawling and lumbering over to their leader. Medusa slithered up into Imperious’s lap, flicking her tongue beneath his chin. “Need an extra hand?” she smirked, dragging her claws down his chest.

“Or six?” Psychokhan chortled.

Imperious grinned, feeling his charge tip as hands ran up his legs and thighs, around his unit. Absolutely beautiful.


	52. G1/IDW: werewolf!Inferno/Red Alert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Inferno!werewolf/red alert, mounting ;)" the following ficbits are from a halloween event i did so that's why they're monsters

Red Alert had been terrified, at first. He had every right to be. Inferno didn’t blame him–not then, and not now. He was, afraid, however, that Red Alert would leave him.

The risk of infection was low, but the possibility existed nonetheless. Red Alert, however, insisted on staying with Inferno–they were conjunx endurae, after all. They made a promise to remain beside one another til the end of time–for the best of them, as well as the worst of them.

Your partner turning into a cyberwolf being one of the worst of times.

Humans, it seemed, had their own version of a cyberwolf–-a werewolf-–and though they shared some similarities, each species had their differences. Inferno could still think and talk like a person, but went through serious episodes of intense hunger and sexual arousal. Usually after consuming energon three times his weight and mass, and a long night of sex satisfied the beast, and Inferno was back to normal again. It came and went, never really relied on full moons, but symptoms of the metamorphosis fortunately showed a day to two days ahead of time, giving the couple time to prepare.

After turning, Inferno spent the first few hours just eating. Energon, oil, fuel, anything of good substance. Sometimes even human and other alien foods. Red Alert brought him plate after cube of goodies, hoping the hunger would wear off quickly. Inferno was bulkier and more scraggly as a cyberwolf, with a tail made of metal, pointed audiols, large canine-esque claws, and a face that was very much wolf-like, both human and Cybertronian.

Red Alert waited, checking the schedule every few minutes. Right on time-–Inferno was coming down, getting full, his eating slowing. End of round one. And so began round two, which would take up the rest of the night until early morning, when Inferno was his old self again.

Red Alert was afraid, at first, but knew he was the only one who could help Inferno in this department. Once Inferno stopped eating, he turned and growled lowly at Red Alert, his optics low and hooded. Arousal poured from his scrambled EM field. He raised his head, sniffed the air; Red Alert, preparing himself for just this, was sitting on the slab, quickly finishing off said preparations–that included opening himself up, nice and lubricated. Inferno was clumsier as a cyberwolf, after all, and neither of them wanted this to hurt more than necessary.

But the smell was beyond intoxicating. Inferno snarled, baring fangs, and ran across the room hunched forward and claws in the air. He pounced on Red Alert, flipping the squeaking bot onto his belly. “B-Be careful, please,” Red Alert gulped, clutching the edge of the slab.

“Always,” Inferno growled lowly. He took Red Alert’s hips, squeezed them tight; thrust his ridged unit deep inside Red Alert. The smaller bot yelped and wiggled, optics crossed. He struggled and twisted, but Inferno pressed down on his body, holding him in place as he forced his partner to relax and open wider.

Once Red Alert stopped writhing, Inferno began thrusting. Went back to holding his hips. Red Alert moaned, chewing his lip and tongue and knuckle. Jerked and slammed hard against the slab as the thick unit pumped inside him.

Inferno bowed his head, licking Red Alert under the chin, up his cheek; Red Alert grunted, momentarily torn from his daze. He turned his head, opening his mouth and taking the long tongue inside, pushing past his intakes, lips sealing and sucking on the appendage. Inferno growled, his thrusts becoming more desperate and clumsy.

Inferno pulled out just to flip Red Alert over, fall back, and impale the smaller bot on his unit again. Red Alert yelped, venting, tongue hanging between his lips. He started riding the cyberwolf in between bouncing. Overloaded a few minutes later with a loud cry, echoed by Inferno’s proud howl.

Inferno overloaded soon, too, and this howl shook the walls. However, he would remain knotted inside Red Alert for an hour or so, and once recovered, would be ready for round two. Red Alert flopped down on Inferno’s chest, feeling those claws tenderly stroking his back, up his helm.

“Mm'hungry,” Inferno snorted, licking his jowls.

Red Alert sighed, removing a candy bar from his chest compartment.


	53. IDW: monster!Ambulon/Mirage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "monster!ambulon/mirage - [idw] - prompt: "stalking" - monster type (bcz i dont know what kind of monster this would be but) : a relentless hide-and-seek monster that hunts people like the monster from it follows."

Mirage felt it the first time he boarded the Lost Light. That eerie, discomforting sensation of being watched at all times. Eyes following his every move. He felt it in public–mixing drinks at his bar among numerous customers, an unblinking gaze from the shadows. He felt it alone–walking back to his suite, those eyes burning into the back of his head.

As days turned to weeks, things started changing. Not only did Mirage feel–and he knew, in his spark, it wasn’t just paranoia–he was constantly being surveyed, but now he was seeing things, too. Suddenly turning just as something swiftly disappeared back in the vents. Reading a datapad and looking up to spot a hand with sharp, pointy fingers withdraw back behind an open door.

Mirage, however, never planned to take this to security. Not because he believed they think he was crazy, either. Rather something much different, maybe just as sinister as this stranger stalking him.

“It’s been a month now. Aren’t you getting a little impatient?”

Mirage smirked at the low hiss coming from the pipes and cables strewn above his head. He’d taken a stroll down to the boiler room where he–they–could be alone. “You’re starting to slip up,” Mirage said, turning. Steam billowed from a nest of pipes, a pit of darkness at their center. Mirage stared into that black emptiness until, finally, a pair of yellow eyes opened, looking back at him.

“You know, if you want to play, all you have to do is ask,” Mirage chuckled demurely. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you. There’s no need to be afraid.”

Mirage was responded with a low gurgle. But sure enough, whoever, whatever, was hiding in the shadows slowly emerged into the dim orange and yellow lights. It was… more than Mirage expected, and most definitely not a person. It might have been, once, but… that was long ago, if its mangled form was any indication.

Mirage had seen images of sparkeaters in textbooks, but never one up close. This creature greatly resembled those illustrations–emaciated, monstrous, all chipped plating, exposed hydraulics and cables, mutilated. But it wasn’t a sparkeater; no one had been reported missing, nor had he seen anyone in the medbay with wounds or injuries fitting a sparkeater attack.

There was a nasty looking jagged scar running vertically down the monster’s body, from the top of its helm, right down to its groin. The wound had been stapled and stitched closed, but left behind a irreparable scar. Its panels were open, shockingly enough, but even more surprising was the fact the monster had two units instead of one.

Mirage felt his cheekplates burn. “My my my,” he tittered, fanning himself, “aren’t you… well-endowed.”

The monster hissed. Despite all the wounds and mutilations, Mirage swore he’d seen this creature from somewhere before. Just… not so… mutated.

“You’re in luck,” Mirage said, stepping fearlessly toward the drooling monster, “you’ve got my attention.” He chortled. “You know what they say: ‘Tower bots have the freakiest kinks.’”

If this monster wanted to kill him, it would have done it already. No, Mirage knew what it wanted. Perhaps stalking was its way of courting. The creature snarled, and finally made its move, pouncing and pinning Mirage onto the ground. It tore its claws over Mirage’s panels, demanding, and Mirage all too happily complied.

“Scrap,” Mirage snarled, teeth clenched and jerking off the metal grates. The monster obviously didn’t know what proper foreplay and preparation was–maybe its kind didn’t need such things. It thrust its units inside Mirage, drawing energon and fuel. It burned and tore, but the Autobot quickly relaxed himself, coolant mixing with a heavy flow of lubricant. The monster growled, holding itself fully seated in Mirage for a minute or so. As if it realized maaaaybe it had gone a bit too fast.

Mirage wrapped his arms around the creature’s long neck, cupping the back of its helm. As they both relaxed, the monster started working a simple rhythm, further splitting his “prey” open. Mirage groaned–it was all pain at first. Nothing but searing, jabbing heat, but with each thrust, his channel started loosening, accepting, producing more lubricant to ease the units along.

Mirage vented, optics rolling back as they closed. He focused on a fixed point in his mind, a nice memory, until the pain started changing, too. Something much more pleasurable now. The monster snarled, snapping his thin hips, rolling Mirage against the ground. It bowed forward, running a long tongue up the side of the Autobot’s helm. Mirage shivered at the cold, sticky sensation, chewing on his lip.

Soon enough, the pain was a distant memory, and now Mirage could no longer hold himself back. He moaned and cried out, clutching at the ground, at the monster’s back. Riding and grinding into the two units stuffing him full. The monster simply grunted, occasionally hissed and barked; its gaze never once breaking from Mirage’s face, twisting up in all sorts of pretty expressions.

Mirage overloaded, seeing double. It wasn’t the best overload, no, but it was definitely the most… unique. Powerful. He laid back, limp, allowing the monster to manipulate and move his body. Still pumping ruthlessly and more quickly inside the channel. When it finally overloaded, it held Mirage to its scarred chest, releasing a loud, ear-piercing shriek.

Mirage closed his optics. When he next came to, he was in the medbay, First Aid bent over him.

“Welcome back,” First Aid said, visibly relaxing, “you suffered some minor tearing to your channel, but you’re going to be okay.”

Mirage licked his lips. “Where is…”

First Aid shook his head. “Just lie back and relax. You’re still healing,” he replied. “We can talk later.”

Mirage massaged his temples. “Man,” he laughed weakly, “what a rush.”

First Aid tried not to curse, glaring up at the ceiling. He heard the creature scamper overhead, disappearing down the ventilation shaft again. This is what he got for dabbling in Goddamn necromancy.


	54. RiD: vampire!Windblade/Strongarm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Strongarm/Vampire!Windblade Babies"

Strongarm quickly transformed once she arrived at the designated meeting spot, venting hard and skidding to a stop.

“You’re late, sweetspark.”

Strongarm jumped, whipping around. Windblade rose from the shadows like ink before the moon, only her glowing red optics visible.

“Sorry about that,” Strongarm apologized, “had to deal with a couple chatty Decepticons.”

Windblade jumped off the rock, landing elegantly before Strongarm, wings flickering. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you out,” the Seeker said, emerging into the light. “Then again, I would have just made the rest of you bots look like chumps.” Windblade winked. In the time since her transformation, her frame had taken on more sharper features, appearing more menacing. The abdominal bulge, however, was from something else entirely.

“Did you recharge well?” Strongarm asked, approaching Windblade. She placed a hand over the Seeker’s belly, smiling proudly. “Hope they didn’t give you any trouble.”

“Some kicking, some punching,” Windblade chuckled, hand over Strongarm’s, “but that’s to be expected. They are our offspring.”

Strongarm nodded. “And all three of you must be starving.”

Windblade’s crimson optics shimmered. “You’ve no idea, skeptibot,” she said, grinning and showing a flash of her new, sharper teeth. “And for more than just energon.”

Strongarm’s cheekplates warmed. “S-Such a pervert, I swear. Your transformation only made it worse.”

Windblade tackled Strongarm, knocking her onto the ground. She purred as her long, agile frame poured over the larger bot. “You love it,” Windblade leered, licking her lips and two protracted fangs.

Strongarm swallowed. Well, she wasn’t exactly wrong… Anyway. At first, feeding Windblade had been… awkward. A little uncomfortable and slightly painful, but over time Strongarm had gotten used to it. The feeling of Windblade’s fangs puncturing her neck cable, biting down until energon and fuel leaked freely. Wrapping her mouth and suckling, not too unlike something more sensual, and gulping down mouthfuls of the precious fluids. Fortunately, Windblade knew Strongarm’s limits, and always stopped before risking turning or seriously hurting her partner. But with her gestating sparklings… She needed more than her usual fix.

That was okay. Strongarm could handle it. And it was actually… kind of nice, once Strongarm eased into the sensations. She felt a bit lightheaded, but her spark was pulsating fast, growing a charge. As Windblade continued feeding from her neck, Strongarm slid a hand between their bodies, fingers pawing at the Seeker’s codpiece.

Windblade moaned against her throat and opened willingly and fast, already wet. Strongarm teased her anterior node before sliding one finger inside, working open mesh walls; Windblade whimpered, almost biting down again and threatening to sever the cable in half. She squeezed her red optics shut, rolling and grinding down into the finger as she feasted on more energon.

Strongarm felt dizzy but excited, her erect unit strained against her panel.

Windblade gasped as she was suddenly lifted, Strongarm sitting and adjusting the Seeker in her lap. As Windblade took the bleeding cable between her lips again, Strongarm pressed a second finger inside the wet, fluttering channel. Windblade groaned, pleased; she shoved away Strongarm’s panel much too easily, grabbing her unit and squeezing. Matching the strokes of the fingers scissoring and thrusting inside her.

Strongarm hissed between clenched teeth, vision blurred. She leaned against Windblade, curled forward. Free hand petting along one of the Seeker’s wings, its sharp edges and back down. Windblade’s round abdomen rubbing against her own flat mid-section, warm.

Windblade suddenly let her throat cable go, unable to restrain herself any longer; she clutched Strongarm’s helm, sealing their mouths in a bittersweet, messy kiss. Strongarm could taste her own energon and fuel, alarmed at first, before hurriedly meeting Windblade’s plunging tongue, stroking and sucking as their hands busied themselves below.

“Tastes so…” Strongarm whispered. She pulled Windblade back, lying her out on the ground. Windblade grinned, licking her lips clean of the pink energon. Her legs fell open, fingers pulling back her hood in invitation. Strongarm shuddered, taking her unit and pumping as she bowed down and buried her mouth into Windblade’s plump channel. Devouring the Seeker in her own way.

Windblade whimpered, clawing at the ground with her dagger-like fingers, a hand curled over her bulging mid-section. She wiggled into Strongarm’s mouth, going completely still whenever Strongarm lapped and licked those precious sensory nodes.

“F-Frag, skeptibot,” Windblade gasped, mouth agape and fangs white in the moonlight.

Windblade overloaded, Strongarm following shortly after. They laid side by side, venting and staring at the starry night sky.

Windblade pursed her lips, claws rapping on her chest. “You want me to suck you off?”

“As long as you don’t use your teeth this time.”


	55. IDW: Anode/Lug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can you do Anode and Lug, something cute and gentle? Nsfw fluff?"

Lug gasped, nearly falling off the berth.

“Are you serious!?” Lug cried, grabbing her head. “Of all things–”

“I said it’d be a great gift!” Anode insisted. She placed the sex toy on the berth. “It’s just like Lulu. Same colors, same textures, same ridges, same materials. Maybe a little smaller, but I did increase the vibrations levels. So meet… Lulu 0.2!”

Lug’s cheekplates burned. “I can’t believe… you made a new double-ended dildo… for our anniversary…” She exvented into her hands.

“I mean, ii makes sense, doesn’t it? It is our anniversary, so…” Anode hopped up on the bed, sliding both herself and the toy closer to Lug. “How about we have some fun? Lulu 2 could use her first real test run, if you… know what I mean.”

While still a little embarrassed, Lug couldn’t help but laugh at Anode’s rapid winking. “Such a dork,” she sneered, sitting forward to bump face to nose. “I’m just… surprised, is all. I didn’t think we’d find material to build a second Lulu.”

“You’d be surprised by the amount of junk Brainstorm keeps in his lab,” Anode snickered.

Lug huffed. Something to talk about later. “C'mere you,” she crooned, and pulled Anode down into a kiss. It’d been a long day, and she desperately needed this.

They broke the kiss to adjust themselves and the toy. First, panels pushed aside, fingers moving to pry each other open. Lug whimpered, wiggling down in Anode’s longer, thicker fingers. She pushed her shorter, chubby ones in deep, knuckle brushing with the anterior node. They held one another, venting and shivering, wetting the berth with puddles of lubricant.

“Need this,” Anode whispered, clumsily shoving Lug onto her back. Lug’s lidded optics flickered, dim and hazy. She stroked Anode’s arms and face as the taller bot took the toy and, with a deep breath, slowly inserted one of its up-turned edges inside her channel.

Anode whimpered, throwing her head back, and Lug trembled, her channel walls fluttering at just how beautiful Anode looked and sounded, completely overcome with lust and sensation.

Anode stood on her shaking knees, clenching around the toy. She looked into Lug’s optics. Lug invented, then nodded. Anode swept down, taking Lug into a slow, passionate kiss, sucking on her lips and tongue. All the while carefully guiding down and helping the other end of the dildo press between Lug’s folds. It lingered there, and with one last hot exvent into her partner’s mouth, Anode thrust the dildo inside.

Lug yelped. Anode devoured her neck with kisses as she started to pump. As if by instinct or memory, Lug immediately started grinding back, arms around Anode and digging into her seams and folds. As the dildo moved in and out, in and out between them, it switched on, starting off with a slow vibrating rhythm.

“Scrap!” Anode cursed. She bounced faster, taking more inches of the quivering dildo. She cursed again, under her breath this time, when she saw Lug’s face, mouth open, venting, vision hazy. Totally consumed by the pleasure. Anode started thrusting downward, moving the dildo along inside Lug, matching her pace.

“I… s-so… needed this…” Lug wheezed. She clenched her channel around the dildo before hiking her hips, moving it so it stroked against her ceiling node. It caused the toy to move inside Anode deeper, the latter groaning loudly. They kissed again, held to each other tightly; to move and ride the toy together, to feel one another, to caress and kiss and know they were there. They were alive and happy and all was well.

Anode overloaded first, spilling a little transfluid on Lug, then Lug followed a few seconds after. Lug, however, would always be ashamed of her tendency to squirt. Always made the bigger mess. But Anode thought it was adorable; never teased her. After they finished playing with Lulu 2.0, Anode flung the dildo aside for cleaning later, the two remaining hot and messy and entangled on the slab.

“We both needed this,” Anode giggled.

Lug smirked and kissed Anode.


	56. TFA: Rosanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Hi!! Ahh, for your requests, could I req Rosanna and/or Flipside self-servicing ? Maybe after a particularly good performance or show or something? If not then perfectly fine, I hope you have a lovely day! 

“Can you even believe it!?”

Rosanna smiled softly, wiping steam drops from her hot faceplates at her vanity center. She watched her manager, a larger, chunkier bot, pace and hop behind her clutching a datapad to her chest. Shaking, optics flared, beaming audiol to audiol.

“According to our files, this concert had your highest attendance yet! You sold out in under an hour! And people were so packed into the theater, they nearly had to start standing on each other and combine!” the manager squealed. She rushed over to Rosanna, the Minibot still prim and pretty at her mirror, cleaning off decorative facial paint. “You were–so amazing! Your voice was–I’ve never heard it sound so strong! So soulful! Truly your best performance yet! Copies of this live show are gonna sell like hot oilcakes!”

“I’m just happy I gave my fans an excellent show,” Rosanna chuckled, tilting her head, “I always do my best, and I’m really glad they got to see it!”

The manager sniffed. “Oh, Rosanna. You’re incredible. I don’t even know–”

“I know I have an interview with Rook in forty-five minutes,” Rosanna interrupted, picking glitter off her fingers, “do you mind leaving me to clean up and get ready?”

“Oh, of course! Want me to call in your stylists?”

“No, no. This won’t take long.”

The manager nodded. “You did wonderful out there, Rosanna! Everyone is blown away!”

Rosanna giggled, walking the bot to the door. She shut it on the vibrating woman’s smile, quickly locking it. With a loud exvent, Rosanna’s shoulders dropped, and she rolled her neck and rubbed her throat to work out some kinks and pinches. Usually her manager’s brown-nosing and over-the-top praising tired Rosanna fast, but tonight…

Tonight really had been special.

One of her best shows, Rosanna definitely agreed. She was like fire out there. Mesmerizing, captivating, her voice touching and embracing every soul and spark in the amphitheater. The way they cried her name and cheered her on; some even broke down and sobbed during the performance. These people were wrapped completely around her finger, and their energy was just as infectious.

Rosanna was a goddess to her fans.

“Scrap,” the Minibot grunted, touching her overheated panel. A single bead of lubricant had slid free down her thigh. Brushing more glitter off her chest, Rosanna quickly adjusted one of the vanity mirrors before sitting down. A perfect view of her–and as she laid back, spread her legs and exposed her channel, an even perfect view of her pretty pink parts. She looked scandalous, delicious, divine.

Rosanna thought of those cries and screams and cheers as she started swirling the welling lubricant along her folds. They reached for her, wanted to touch her, as if she would bless them with fame and fortune. Rosanna had seen people faint when she looked their way before.

Rosanna moaned, two wet fingers steadily working inside her channel. Slow, clumsy thrusts, loosening up the mesh, finding those sweet spots she knew so well.

How many of those people would truly die for Rosanna? How many would be willing to throw their own lives away because she willed it? What sort of unspeakable acts could she have them do? Steal? Kill?

Rosanna chewed her bottom lip, whimpering; her crotch rolled up into her hand as fingers found her engorged ceiling node. She invented, staring at the mirror–her hazy reflection. She watched it change. Dark purple and red, the truth of who Rosanna really was.

If her fans ever found out…

“Nnn!” Rosanna cooed, clamping thighs around her hand. She shivered, spread them again. Venting and shaking in the chair as fingers stroked and rolled along her node, going faster, faster, until actuators in her arms started to strain. But it was enough, just enough; Rosanna undulated and rode into her own hand, mouth hanging open, tongue lapping along her lips, drooling.

The things Rosanna could do to her fans. What they’d do to her. She imagined one day stage diving into her audience. Nothing she hadn’t done before. But this time all those hands carrying her would start to undress her armor, peel pack plating, find all the sensitive spots.

“F-Frag!” Rosanna wailed, chewing on a finger-edge as she twisted left and right in the chair, digits still going fast-fast-fast.

Totally taken apart by her fans. Ravaged. Licked, sucked, eaten, kissed, penetrated—

“Sigma! Sigma!” Rosanna squealed and flopped back, hips thrust into the air. She overloaded, squirting transfluid in thin lines on her mirror, across her shivering reflection.

Rosanna relaxed, venting, still chewing a finger. She watched beads of transfluid roll down her reflection’s face, and slowly smiled.


	57. TFP: Predaking/Ultra Magnus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Could you please do some tfp ultra magnus/predaking knotting w/ cum inflation when you get the chance?"

Of all the Autobots Predaking had come across and gotten to know–some more violently than others–he found the one called Ultra Magnus to be reasonable, intelligent, reserved. Makings for a proper and true leader. But what Predaking did not expect was the fact this stoic, wound up, perpetually guarded Autobot was also into some, well… kinky shit.

Predaking was totally fine with that. In fact, after he got over his disbelief, sensing no tricks or lies, the Predacon was delighted. Although he would have chosen someone of his own race, Ultra Magnus was exceptional. A little… odd, but Predaking wasn’t afraid if this Autobot thought he could later fool or use him with these twisted tactics.

Predaking dug his sharp claws into Magnus’s chest, moving with the hard thrust inside the Autobot. Magnus snarled, teeth grinding. His fists wriggled in the cuffs keeping his hands behind his back. His choice, oddly enough, but Predaking would have suggested it anyway if not.

Predaking bowed over Ultra Magnus, pressing the bot against the cavern wall. Magnus rest a cheek to the rocks, scratching off paint. He loudly invented, chills rushing down his backstrut as Predaking exhaled hot, oily steam above his head.

Predaking was impressed by the Autobot’s stamina. They’d been interfacing for nearly a half hour now, and it was Predaking who overloaded first. He was in heat, after all. And it was nice, thrusting inside Magnus’s channel all wet and completely malleable, stretched so all of his unit could easily slide in and out, in and out. Predaking placed a hand to Magnus’s mid-section, slightly guiding Magnus off the ground so the edge of his boots scraped the dirt.

Magnus gasped, dropping back and supporting himself against Predaking. The Predacon rumble-purred, cupping one side of Magnus’s head and running his tongue up along the other. Magnus open-mouth vented, went to say something, but Predaking violently tilted his head backwards, sinking his long, thick tongue down the Autobot’s throat. Magnus choked, wiggling on Predaking’s unit; it took him a moment to settle, suckling on the tongue as it pressed against his throat, forming bulges along his neck.

Predaking tilted back, getting into a more comfortable angle. Hissing and growling as he pumped his unit faster, second overload steadily approaching. Magnus, for all his size and bulky frame, moved fluidly on his unit, in his arms, as if made of putty.

Magnus gasped and groaned around the tongue as the cord slammed repeatedly inside him, pelvis to pelvis, denting metal and tearing away paint. Never pulling out more than a couple inches before thrusting back inside.

Predaking roared, holding Magnus in place as he overloaded. Magnus bit down on the Predacon’s tongue, wincing; his tanks began to bloat, enough an obvious bump formed against his pliant abdominal armor.

Predaking withdrew his tongue, licked his lips. “We’re not quite done yet,” he snorted, forcing Magnus around, “do tell me if you need to stop. I don’t want to break you. Not now, at least.”

Magnus grunted as he was dropped onto his back and bound hands. He wiggled, scowling as Predaking held his legs apart and knelt between them. His unit was half-mast; after gliding it back inside Magnus’s pulsating, dribbling channel, a couple pumps and it was fully pressurized. Predaking held Magnus down by his hips, resuming the erratic, needy pace as before.

Magnus gasped and growled, chewing his lip. He looked down at Predaking, at the bulge in his stomach. Cried out and moaned whenever the Predacon hit the right spot, spoiling his nodes. He could feel the transfluid sloshing around in his tanks, and it almost hurt. Magnus dropped his head back, invented and squeezed his optics closed. Ignore the pain, enjoy the ride.

This ride–the final ride–was the last, and it didn’t take as long as the others. Predaking snarled again, loud enough for sounds to echo off the cavern walls; he pushed himself inside to the hilt, filling his partner with more transfluid. Magnus yelped, rising off the ground; his tanks were going to rupture. The bulge against his stomach had increased. Little streams of transfluid and lubricant struggled free in the tiny spaces between channel and unit stuffing him closed.

Magnus winced at the new, odd sensation. “Is… Did you…” He shuddered.

“Oh, yes,” Predaking replied, getting comfortable as the fat knot kept them in place, “but don’t worry. It’ll come down in an hour or so.”

“My… tanks…”

Predaking caressed Magnus’s extended belly with something akin to affection. And amusement. “No worries. You’ll be fine,” he reassured, grinning all teeth, “besides, you wouldn’t be the Commander of the Wreckers if you couldn’t handle something like this, now would you?”


	58. TFP: Breakdown/Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "So I know I’m the only person who ships this but can I get Breakdown and starscream!! Made with Breakdown walk in on his masturbating and just do whatever you want from there!!!"

Breakdown wasn’t the… sharpest scalpel in Knock Out’s medkit. But what he lacked in brains, he more than made up in bronze. Still, he should have known better.

Starscream didn’t answer the ping, which was odd. Starscream always answered, even if it was to snap at Breakdown to leave him alone or buzz off. Not only was this weird, Breakdown knew this delivery was important, and he couldn’t wait without pushing a little.

Breakdown did debate, briefly, pinging Starscream again then leaving the datapads at the door. But instead– Again, not the sharpest. Just a little force he didn’t know he was using (though part of him was concerned his SIC might be badly injured or dead, given his relationship with their master) and the door opened.

“Starscream,” Breakdown said, holding up the files, “I have some very import–” His mouth shut upon seeing Starscream very much alive and well and fingering himself loudly on his slab.

Starscream instantly stopped, giving Breakdown the most shocked, incredulous look of embarrassment and rage.

“Uhh…”

“You imbecile!” Starscream shrieked, his voice powerful enough to almost tear apart Breakdown’s audiols. He pointed at the larger Decepticon. “How DARE you interrupt–how dare you BARGE in like some classless ANIMAL! You foolish, oafish, dumb son of a–”

“I’m really sorry, Star–sir! I just needed to give you these files right away! Soundwave’s orders!” Breakdown dropped the ‘pads on the nearest table, stepped back with his hands in the air.

“And you couldn’t wait!?”

“Well, I suppose I–”

“I’m going to report you for insubordination!”

Breakdown gulped. “… If–Wait! What if… What if instead I… Well, if I…” He cleared his vocalizer. “… Gave you a, uh… another hand?”

Starscream gaped. “Are you… kidding me? Right now?”

“Well, my hand is… bigger. Which is really nice to… some bots.”

Starscream opened his mouth again, raised a finger–shut his mouth, lowered his finger. Sat back, frowning, optics narrowed.

Breakdown waited, nervous. “So, uh–”

“I’m thinking about it!”

“S-Sorry, okay.”

Starscream invented, massaging his temples. “Fine,” he growled, “but don’t think this doesn’t mean I won’t reprimand you after.”

Breakdown nodded. “Just think of it as me apologizing.”

That would work. And it did, actually.

It was a little awkward at first. Breakdown sat stiffly on the slab, helping the Seeker awkwardly into his lap. Neither did anything for a full minute, not sure who should move first. But after a few seconds, Breakdown finally took lead, gently sliding his fingers along Starscream’s slick folds, against his ceiling node.

Starscream groaned, instantly clutching onto Breakdown’s arm wrapped around him. He laid back against the larger bot’s chest, legs spreading, completely lax. Venting and grumbling as he watched fingers stroke and pet; no penetration, just building surface friction and focusing on his node, his hood pulled back and stretched.

Once Breakdown’s fingers were wet enough, he pushed the edge of one digit inside, slowly, patiently. Starscream choked on his whimper, biting his bottom lip and wiggling. Breakdown cleared his throat, heat swelling in his groin, his spark skipping. Starscream might have been a pain in the ass, but he sure was… pretty. Lovely. Beautiful…

Starscream open-mouth vented, rolling into the finger in his channel. Deep but slowly quickening thrusts in between swirls. Second digit still pampering his node. Breakdown’s unit was half-mast, pressing against his plating, but he ignored it. Had to focus on his superior.

Had to… focus…

It wasn’t as if the Eradicon could see what they were doing. But he knew those noises. He knew what they meant. Breakdown was currently pounding Starscream’s channel; probably had him over a desk, or along his slab. Really rough, by the sound of it–Starscream was whimpering and snarling and “yes yes yes"ing loud enough anyone passing by could easily hear him. The Eradicon went about his business.

Later a Vehicon would tell him they were still going at it–only this time Starscream’s noises were muffled.

“Definitely choking on his unit,” the Vehicon said. “Even with his mouth full–and throat, too, I’m sure–he’s still loud as all Hell.”

The Eradicon nodded, sipping his cube.


	59. TFP: Predaking/Starscream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Um I don’t have to do this but I would really like starscream x predaking With PK going into his first heat and starscream taking advantage of that and fragging the predaking brains out ( not literally because that will be disturbing)) :3"

“Well. You’ve certainly come to the right person.”

“I would never lower my standards if there were other options,” Predaking snarled, cheekplates hot and yellow optics flickering.

Starscream glowered. “You don’t think I’m choking on my pride right now?” he snapped.

“No talking,” Predaking hissed, “let’s just get this over with.”

Starscream wanted to tease the Predacon a little more, really make him beg for it, but… For some reason, the heat in Predaking’s field was infectious. Perhaps because it was so domineering as an apex predator.

Starscream cleared his vocalizer, trying to look suave and unimpressed as Predaking lounged back; legs spread, dangerously sharp claws sliding aside his codpiece. Starscream gulped loudly as lubricant spilled on the ground, his channel hot and wet and wide, already twice Starscream’s own size.

“If you’re concerned,” Predaking snorted, “you will be… sufficient enough.”

“I can leave right now,” Starscream spat, “and you can just wallow in your own heat, you ungrateful monster!” He winced at the glare Predaking shot him, but the Predacon remained quiet. Starscream’s wings hiked, flicking, as he stood upright proudly. “That’s what I thought. Now, let us begin. Do try to keep yourself a little composed.”

Starscream, needless to say, didn’t need to prep his partner. He slid in easily, mesh walls inviting and soaked. Predaking chuffed, squinting; he dug his claws into the ground, tearing up gravel and steel. Starscream braced his hands against the Predacon’s thighs (here went nothing) and started thrusting.

It was most likely the heat making everything so damn oversensitive and easy to please. Predaking was positive this diminutive Decepticon would do nothing for him if the circumstances were different. But it was working; Predaking snarled, grinding his fangs and wiggling.

Starscream looked pleased with himself, at the way this beast wiggled and writhed beneath him. He sneered, picking up the pace just as he slid a hand beneath Predaking’s hood, stroking and rubbing the swollen node with two fingers.

Predaking gasped; fortunately, he stopped himself before he could crush the slender bot between his legs, going slack again. His unit instantly pressurized, surprising Starscream; his cheekplates went hot just seeing the sheer size and girth.

“Well?” Starscream chuckled over Predaking’s fierce growls and whines. “How does it feel, your Highness?”

Predaking gave him another spark-stopping look.

Starscream pursed his lips, browplates furrowed. Fine. Two could play the petulant asshole in this game. Still thrusting his channel into the clenching, trembling channel, still rolling and grinding fingers against the ceiling node, Starscream leaned forward, free hand stroking up along the flared ridges of Predaking’s unit as he kissed and licked the dribbling slit.

Predaking practically roared, tossing his head back. He bucked his hips, almost throwing Starscream from his rhythm.

“Yes, yes,” Starscream snickered, petting the unit, “give into your mas–”

“Stop talking!”

Starscream gasped as Predaking hit his first overload, tightening around Starscream’s unit and smothering his face with transfluid.

Starscream reeled back, spitting and hissing, wiping the transfluid from his optics and mouth. “You could have given me some warning, you know!” he snarled.

“My apologies, *master*,” Predaking smirked, flicking a little of his fluid off Starscream’s sulking face.


	60. TFA: Megatron/clone!Megatron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Tfa Megatron with an autobot s/o who was rebuilt with his schematics by the council and is on earth with the autobot team as he meets them and for the battles they get into he finally gets them alone away from everyone and has some nsfw time with them. I hope that isn’t to long I really love your blog your so awesome!"

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

Megatron looked up from his goblet, smirking. His reflection stood before him, smiling–the only difference between the Decepticon warlord and his duplicate were the colors of their optics. Red and blue, the latter common for Autobots.

Much like the Autobot symbol this doppelganger wore.

“You’re just in time,” Megatron said, setting his drink aside.

“We’re going to get caught one day, maybe sooner than later,” Megatronus explained, walking up the steps, “I fear some of my teammates are catching on.”

“I fear no one, and I certainly do not fear Autobots, especially the ones you’ve been saddled with,” Megatron replied. “But now is not the time for questioning or scheming. You know why you’ve come, why I’ve waited for you.”

Megatronus grinned, nodding.

Megatron sat back, legs spread, sliding away his panels. His half-pressurized unit leaking transfluid.

Megatronus swallowed, heat rushing to his groin. He invented, blue optics bright in the dimly lit room. Slowly, the Autobot climbed up on the throne, boxing Megatron in with his knees. Looking down at the expectant unit, Megatronus pushed open his codpiece, wet and moist with lubricant.

“How adorable,” Megatron teased. To think he once planned on killing his clone.

Megatronus wiggled on two fingers, spreading himself. Not much–his body had acclimated over time, adjusted. Megatronus lowered himself slowly on the Decepticon’s unit, groaning loudly. Once fully seated and sheathed on the engorged cable, Megatron hungrily grabbed Megatronus’s hips and started thrusting.

“By the A-Allspark,” Megatronus rasped, bouncing in the Decepticon’s lap. His knees shuffling and scraping against the throne and Megatron’s legs. “Nnn, e-each time… n-never… same…” He whimpered, hands latching onto Megatron’s shoulders for stability.

Megatron wasn’t sure what to feel, hearing this duplicate talk so submissively, moan so obscenely. He both loved and loathed it. But now was not the time for thinking. Megatron snarled, pounding particularly hard into Megatronus; the clone keened, folding over Megatron like a limp blanket.

“S-Sorry,” Megatronus croaked, coolant dripping from his chin, “for the b-blast… earlier…”

“It was nothing,” Megatron snorted. “I did clock you fairly hard.”

Megatronus tittered, grinding down on the unit. “Yes. My jaw is still a b-b-bit sore…”

There was one thing Megatron did like that his double pulled off nicely. As filthy as it was, it was still rather… charming. Megatronus, with his glitching, lulling optics, tongue hanging from his open, drooling mouth. Completely, totally surrendering to the sensations.

“T-Taking me a-apart!” Megatronus cried, head bobbing along with the rest of his body.

Maybe another time, in the future. But for now, Megatron was content keeping his clone around.

Megatronus screamed as they overloaded, together. Not entirely surprising. Megatron filled the Autobot, letting him clench down on his unit to milk out his climax.

Megatronus finished first, groaning as he flopped against Megatron.

“Ratchet is… wonder why… come back so… so sore…” Megatronus vented.

Megatron picked up his goblet, took a sip. “Pity.”


	61. TFP: Dreadwing/Soundwave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "If still possible??? Maybe TFP Soundwave bottoming to literally anyone??"

In a way, they weren’t that different.

Silent observers, loyal, independent, strong-willed warriors. Each loved and adored something–family. Family they lost, family they missed.

For Dreadwing, it was his brother.

For Soundwave…

It wasn’t necessarily their common traits that brought the two together that afternoon. No. It just meant they could interface without wanting to kill each other.

Soundwave was silent–like always, so silent–as he spread languidly over the slab. Dreadwing braced his hands beside those slender hips, grunting repeatedly as he thrust and pounded unit inside Soundwave’s nicely accommodating channel. All but one of Soundwave’s tentacles were tucked away–the single appendage slipped under the table, wrapping around his own erect unit and pumping.

Dreadwing couldn’t fit his entire girth inside Soundwave. Too thin, too lean. He did like the way his unit-head thrust against Soundwave’s malleable abdominal plating, jolting and stirring Soundwave. While he didn’t talk, or make any vocalizations, Soundwave’s body did all the talking: the revving, purring of his engines and systems, the tremors in his armor and frame, the way his channel clenched down and quivered around the Seeker’s unit.

Dreadwing could hear the wet sounds from beneath the table, curious. He spotted the tentacle stroking Soundwave off; annoyed and large browplates furrowing, Dreadwing abruptly re-positioned the smaller Decepticon, pinning him to the slab on his back. Soundwave’s screen lit up for a split second, the tentacle hovering and ready to attack if need be.

Dreadwing thrust back inside Soundwave, but this time slapped away the tentacle and grabbed the smaller unit, fit snug in his hand. He snarled as he tugged and yanked. Soundwave threw his head back, shivering; he threw his legs around Dreadwing’s hips tightly, hooking them together.

Soundwave shocked the Seeker by bouncing and riding back into his unit, taking a few more inches; lubricant dripped on the floor and slab, Soundwave’s groin and aft smeared violet and Dreadwing’s lighter blue.

The slab started shaking. Soundwave struggled to hold on; hands braced to the slab, legs still locked around Dreadwing. Dreadwing’s pace was vicious and demanding; both inside Soundwave’s channel and his unit in hand.

Soundwave didn’t complain–didn’t do much, really. Just went along with the ride.

Dreadwing overloaded first, nearly crushing Soundwave’s unit. Soundwave jerked and twitched, filling with transfluid, adding to the small bulge in his mid-section. Dreadwing pulled out, letting the transfluid spill onto the floor, wetting Soundwave’s dark thighs. But he continued tugging the smaller Decepticon off; he had manners.

Soundwave bucked and wiggled into the hand, fingers tearing grooves into the slab. When he climaxed, he could feel the warmth of his fluids around him, trapped in Dreadwing’s grip. Dreadwing let go, the transfluid leaking free, streaking across Soundwave’s torso.

“Thank you,” Dreadwing said, wiping himself clean with a cloth. He handed it to Soundwave.

Soundwave, again, said nothing. Didn’t nod. Just wiped off transfluid and lubricant. Dreadwing left before he could finish and things started getting awkward.


	62. IDW: Metroplex/Mirage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Metroplex x Mirage -- any continuity so long as Metroplex is big! Prompt: "small things"

“Calm, Glimmer.”

Mirage stopped venting, grinning lopsidedly. “G-Glimmer?” He rolled over, adjusted himself; the heat, the burn of the finger inside him was still expanding. His head felt like an air balloon, weighing two tons. “That’s a n-new one.”

“Appear. Glimmer. Disappear. Glimmer.”

“I-I get it,” Mirage swallowed. He stretched out on his back, propped against the wall. Metroplex’s face was floating in front of him, somehow much smaller than usual. The Citybot’s index finger miraculously pushing inside Mirage’s spread channel, almost to the second knuckle. It was… strange; he hadn’t ripped or was bleeding. Yet.

“Stop?” Metroplex asked.

Mirage’s optics squeezed shut. “N-No, don’t,” he choked. He turned slightly, digging and clawing at the ground. The finger resumed its slow, agonizing, delightful pace, each time spreading him more and more. Mirage heaved, dizzy, chewing on his digits, vision glitching. Despite everything, the pain felt ridiculously good; he couldn’t help but push back, squirm.

“Ready still?”

Mirage invented, held it for a moment. He turned pallor gaze to Metroplex, and weakly nodded.

Since properly fucking Mirage with his finger was impossible, Metroplex shot vibrations through his digit, into Mirage–his nodes, his groin, his entire body. Mirage keened, bucking into the finger; he collapsed against the wall again, mindlessly grabbing and clawing at the sides of his helm. All the while whimpering obscenities and desires and needs, wants, please.

Mirage overloaded not even a minute later. But as per request, Metroplex continued. Mirage whined, writhing on the ground, grabbing onto the finger. Torn between shoving it back or pulling it closer. His hips and thighs felt numb, his vision blurred and crossed. Everything doubled, tripled, quadrupled.

“F… Frag, M-Metroplex…!” Mirage yelped, rising into an arch. “A-Again, it’s h-happening…!”

Metroplex remained quiet, head tilting curiously as he watched the almost miniscule bot struggle and cry. In the past ten minutes, Mirage had climaxed at least six times, and even Metroplex could tell he was weakening, stamina almost completely drained.

“Stop,” Metroplex said. “Done.”

Mirage slowly opened his eyes, finding himself back in that same room, cables plugged into his head and sockets along his body.

Metroplex’s disembodied voice called down from above. “Good?” he asked.

Mirage sat up, yanking out a cable. He glanced down at his channel, at the puddles on the tile. “… Utterly d-divine,” he smirked.


	63. IDW: Cyclonus/Whirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Aft sex with Whirl ( I headcanon that empurata includes taking away a bot's bits.) Either masturbation or with a friend (Cyclonus.) Thanks for the chance! I love your writing!"

Cyclonus had seen aft ports before. They weren’t exactly common, but they weren’t entirely rare, either. It’d just been a very long time since he’d met anyone with an aft port… and nothing else.

“It was a bonus they threw in with the whole Empurata package,” Whirl explained, “I mean, how could I say no? Seriously. How could I. It wasn’t my choice. It’s like they wanted me to be miserable and suffer or something, right? L-O-L.”

Cyclonus was having second thoughts now.

“But after a lot of re-routing, re-wiring, re-adjustments, and re-morse,” Whirl continued, placing the cube of lubricant in Cyclonus’s claws, “a couple medics hooked me up with this naughty-naughty here. Besides, this position is a lot easier for interfacing.” Whirl turned around, claws pressed to the wall, wiggling his aft and the exposed port. “You won’t get blocked or accidentally shot by the big bazookas.”

Cyclonus exvented, raising a hand. “Stop talking, or I’m changing my mind.”

Whirl chuckled. “As you wish, darling.” He blinked–God help him, Cyclonus had gotten close enough to this psychotic idiot to know that was actually *winking*.

Cyclonus never had a partner with an aft port, but he knew enough. Knew it didn’t produce as much adequate lubricant, and it would require extra stretching since the mesh was less flexible and dermal plating less malleable. But as Cyclonus hooked his wet fingers inside Whirl’s port, stretching, gently prying, Whirl made the same noises one would except if this were a regular channel.

“T-That’s the ticket…” Whirl stammered, riding back into Cyclonus’s digits.

Cyclonus released his unit, pumping it in one hand while continuing to prep his wiggling, moaning partner with the other. Once he was erect, and once Whirl’s port felt adequately wide and wet, Cyclonus removed his fingers, took one of the mono-eyed bot’s hips, and pushed just the head of his unit inside. A test; Whirl grunted, clenching slightly.

Little by little, Cyclonus inserted more of his unit. Once they found a comfortable medium, Cyclonus started pumping. A slow pace and rhythm.

Whirl’s engines revved and sputtered. He dug his pincers into the wall, ready to tear out chunks. “Little d-deeper… move… right a-angle little…” he grunted.

Cyclonus re-positioned himself, thrust–Whirl keened, nearly shoving back and ripping himself on the rest of Cyclonus’s unit. A node-cluster, then. Cyclonus continued hitting that cluster, over and over, with every stroke.

“Oh G.. Gah…” Whirl wheezed, optic dimming. “Yoooou… saucy m-minx…”

Cyclonus dragged his sharp nails down Whirl’s hips, increasing speed. Slamming into him, into that cluster, paint transfers on aft and groin. Whirl cried out, knees buckling; Cyclonus had to hold the bot up. This didn’t feel too unlike a channel, just tighter… which was actually very, very nice.

Whirl recomposed himself, rolling his hips and aft, the edges of his chest-mounted guns scraping against the wall. “Y-Yer doin’ g-great, b-buddy,” the bot heaved, shuddering.

Cyclonus was surprised when Whirl… overloaded? Whirl suddenly just stopped moving, squeezed down on the unit buried inside him, and practically wailed. There was no transfluid, no mess, just jolting waves of energy pouring off his frame and tickling Cyclonus’s circuits. Cyclonus was about to pull out, just finish himself off, but Whirl raised a claw, shook his head.

Cyclonus nodded. Continued thrusting.

“Nnn, e-even dried up,” Whirl gurgled, “s-still feels so good… B-Burns so g-good. Hot… d-damn.”

Cyclonus attempted not to hit that sweet spot, work Whirl up again–or cause him pain. Not gonna risk it. But soon he was losing focus, drawing closer to his own overload. He could hear Whirl grunt, even whine, as his thrusts became more desperate and hard.

Whirl sagged against the wall, trickles of fluids dripping down his thighs. “L-Let loose, s’not g-gonna break me–eee!”

Cyclonus snarled, went still. He pulled out, just in time to release his load on Whirl’s aft, the back of his legs.

“Wow,” Whirl smirked, glancing over his shoulder. He bounced and shook his aft, knocking off droplets of the thick fluids. “The c-color looks good on me. Think I s-should get a matching paint job?”

“Please… stop talking. Forever, if possible."


	64. IDW: Drift/Perceptor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Drift interfacing with Perceptor trying to distract him from his experiments?"

Drift had tried everything.

For the last week, Perceptor had been slaving away over a new experiment, running constant trials (and errors), test after test after test. Drift often walked in on the scientist just sitting at his desk, staring at the screen, unblinking, unmoving. Sometimes the screen would be blank. Drift chalked it up to Perceptor just thinking, burning out his CPU.

Drift often left Perceptor to his whims and scientific fancies, but lately… Sometimes Perceptor needed a little nudge away from his work. Just a time out; no thinking, just relaxing. Take his mind off of things.

Drift knew what worked and what didn’t. Interfacing often helped loosen Perceptor up for a short while, most of the time. So after exhausting all other avenues, Drift decided to stick with what worked best.

This was not one of those times.

Drift initially set out to just distract Perceptor for a little bit. But now he was getting frustrated–in more ways than one–by the lack of response. Oh, sure, Perceptor was all for fucking, but his mind still wandered back to the experiment.

Drift first took Perceptor on their slab; Perceptor never neglected refueling and recharging, because he needed to keep his brain and senses sharp and alert. Working on fumes and exhaustion was just silly–took him a while to learn that lesson, however. Perceptor wasn’t tired, grumbling to himself how maybe he could take another half hour to work. Drift stopped that train before it could start–a few calculated kisses and nips along the scientist’s throat, and soon he was spread beneath Drift, moaning and rolling his channel against the mouth slowly eating him out.

Didn’t last long. Soon Perceptor was back to work again. He took forever to overload; Drift almost gave up halfway through.

The second attempt was during a wash. Perceptor was staring at the wall, idly cleaning himself with a rag of solvent. Drift sidled behind him, wrapped his arms around his mid-section, kissed his helm, his scope. Delicately pressed the bot against the wall and fingered him open; once again, it started out perfectly fine. Perceptor was whimpering and mumbling Drift’s name as his hips rutted back into the unit thrusting in slow and deep.

Then Perceptor was hit with an idea, and rushed out, neither of them overloading. Not a problem for Perceptor, but Drift…

Trial and error, over and over again. Drift finally came to the best conclusion.

“Er…” Perceptor looked a little nervous, wringing his hands bound to the wall by restraints.

“It’s the only way to keep you from running off on me,” Drift scowled. “Besides, you agreed to it.”

“I know.”

Drift placed a finger against Perceptor’s lips. “You know the safeword, right?” he asked. Perceptor nodded, inventing. “All right. Let’s get to it. Just one more thing…”

Perceptor gasped, rising off the berth as Drift pressed the vibrating bullet to his node. He cried out, surprised, optics flushed. Drift decreased the volume, attaching it to the node. Perceptor whimpered, rocking back and forth, legs quivering apart.

So far, so good.

Drift finished pumping himself, adding a little extra lubricant; taking a deep breath, he pushed inside Perceptor–nothing too deep. Perceptor could take it, but Drift wanted to take this slow… ish. Perceptor heaved, plates rattling, fingers digging into his palms. Drift took his hips, working into a rhythm.

As Perceptor started matching pace, Drift switched the vibrator back on high. Perceptor yelped, clenching down on his partner. Venting, groaning, Perceptor snapped his hips, taking the rest of Drift’s unit. And just when he thought he was getting closer to overload, Drift switched off the bullet and decreased his speed.

Over and over again.

“D-Drift…” Perceptor moaned. “P-Please…”

Drift grinned. Perceptor, always so stoic, always so collected and serious, with such an obscene face. Optics wide and crossed, panting as his tongue lulled free, drooling and making a mess of coolant on his chest. Mewling and keening and wriggling. “L-Let me overload,” Perceptor huffed, “let me overload p-please l-let me overload let–let me overload…!”

Perceptor’s mind was definitely not focused on work. Drift exvented; he’d succeeded. And so he put the vibrator on the highest setting, and started thrusting until Perceptor’s swaying body left paint transfers on the slab.

Perceptor overloaded with a howl, a sloppy grin on his face. Drift followed soon after, albeit a little more quietly.

With all the work the two had been doing this week, maybe they needed to extend their “vacation” a little longer.


	65. TFP: Predaking/Arcee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "TFP Arcee and Predaking for the prompt. Arcee bent over a rock or something in a cave getting fragged from behind by Predaking and she's teasing him by squeezing him with her valve and he's dirty talking to her with talk of filling her to the brim so she'll have his eggs." Full on squick here, y'all.
> 
> You can imagine he’s in bipedal/TF mode, or beast mode.

Predaking detested both Autobots and Decepticons. But when you were one of only three survivors of an extinct race, you had to make due by lowering the bar.

Predaking thought that, initially. Mating with this… Arcee was below him, but nature called, and she was in a hurry. Arcee was willing enough, though a little skeptical at first. Predaking was an honorable creature; if she refused to mate, he would go to someone else. Kill her if she tried to pull anything, but right now his interests lied elsewhere.

It turned out this tiny Autobot packed much more than a good punch.

“So small, so slender, and yet you fit all of me, Autobot,” Predaking purred, watching his fat, large unit almost *too* easily pump in and out of Arcee below him.

Arcee smirked, bent over a large boulder, hands braced against the front. “Y-You Predacons g-got b-big egos, too,” she stammered, smiling lopsidedly. Her optics were a tinged violet, coolant dripping from a corner of her mouth. She could barely keep her eyes open, let alone stop them from crossing or rolling back. Dignity be damned; Predaking couldn’t see her face, anyway. It’d just been too long since she’d last been fucked this hard, and with someone this large. Arcee could feel him thrust against her abominable armor, the malleable plating bulging.

“Perhaps this was your original calling, before your war,” Predaking sneered. He kept his hands loose around Arcee; too much force applied with his unit stretching her would certainly break the Autobot. “Tell me, how many partners did it take before you became this loose and accommodating?”

“Heh,” Arcee sneered, wiping the drool from her lips, “y-you’re not even a t-ten, buddy.” She squeezed her thighs together, channel clenching on Predaking’s unit. Chuckling as he snarled and gave her one sharp thrust. “Didn’t sound like that hurt…”

“Insolent creature,” Predaking growled, increasing pace. Arcee whimpered, rutting against the rock with each thrust in and out. “But your frame will provide adequate space for my offspring. You will carry a new generation of Predacons. And if you are good, you may even be considered a noble among my people.”

Arcee panted, tongue hanging from her mouth. “Y… You… It…” She really wanted to say something snappy, but her mind was just too preoccupied. She felt like jelly; her sensors were overloaded with stimuli.

“It will take more than one session of copulation,” Predaking sneered, lowering his face against the back of the Autobot’s head. He vented warm air against her helm. “Many, many more must happen before there is enough seed and room for incubation.”

Arcee suddenly pushed back, squeezing his unit again. Predaking roared, almost breaking rhythm. “That a p-promise, big guy?” she leered.

“Does that excite you, Autobot?” Predaking snapped. “Becoming a living incubator for my eggs? To be used and interfaced like a toy?” And he could hear her chuckle, start to work up some witty retort, but Predaking was prepared. As soon as Arcee opened her mouth, Predaking thrust his still-attached tail inside, past her intakes, until she was choking and sputtering on her comeback. At least the Predacon had laid back the razor sharp ridges.

“Not as much room for my girth here, I see. Pity.”

Arcee made a noise between indignation and a moan as the tongue started wriggling in her mouth. She couldn’t suck, jaw forced to stay open, but Predaking didn’t need her help anyway. However, there was still a little fire left in the Autobot; tried and tested, she clenched down on his unit again, but held him there this time.

Predaking growled. “Quaint.” He lifted the Autobot off the boulder, surprising her. The Predaon held her by her thin legs, his unit and the tail keep her upright. Arcee’s arms fell limp at her sides, and she relaxed, moaning and slurping obscenely loud. “There. Much more comfortable, don’t you think?” He leaned forward, finally catching the expression on her face: thoroughly-fucked, optics rolling and twitching, lips stretched out and mouth spread wide.

Predaking finally overloaded; held inside Arcee until she was sufficiently stuffed with his seed. Pulling out before he and the amount of transfluid could seriously damage her. Arcee coughed up transfluid the moment Predaking removed his tail.

“Yes,” Predaking smirked. He laid Arcee against the boulder; the Autobot was too overstimulated and overwhelmed to do anything but vent and gurgle on mouthfuls of transfluid, her mid-section bulging as fluids gushed from her stretched channel. “A fine incubator you shall be, Autobot Arcee.”


	66. IDW: Lobe/Trepan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Forgive me, but if you only could write something sweet-but-lewd about Trepan and Lobe, I'd be very happy. They are... a rather underappreciated pairing to me. Maybe Lobe comforting his conjunx after a nightmare or something sad in a loving and sexual way is something we miss?.. Thanks in advance."

The pressure was building.

The Decepticon riots had garnered enough attention that the Council had no choice but to give the Rodon Police warrants to thoroughly search every single Relinquishment Clinic. Looking for malpractice cases, any connections to the so-called Institute, Hell, dirty or reused equipment, didn’t matter–any evidence they could use to shut these places down. Proteus was furious, and took all his aggression out on Trepan and his employees–his demands were getting more and more dangerous, burdening the doctors and surgeons when they already had enough work on their hands.

Lobe was with Trepan during the council meeting, when the news was broken, when the warrants were issued. Lobe wasn’t much of a public speaker, nor very good at socializing, so Trepan was left to do all the talking, to smile and pretend he had nothing to hide, that he secretly didn’t want to stab his needles into the optics of every bot in the room, enemy and secret ally alike.

Trepan kept up this professional, nonplussed facade all the way back to their private quarters. Once the door shut behind him, Trepan screamed out a string of obscenities and punched the wall. A quick outburst before he was bent over a slab, frame shivering, venting hard.

Lobe wasn’t very good with words, either. He preferred to let his hands do the talking. And Lobe knew nothing he could say–anyone could say–would comfort Trepan. Oh, he’d get over it soon enough, but right now…

Lobe was a great listener. But Trepan didn’t want to talk.

Lobe was also pretty creative, and he knew Trepan the most intimately. So intimately it would be.

Trepan didn’t acknowledge Lobe at first, the taller, slender bot wrapping his arms around him, dragging his claws lightly down the front of Trepan’s chest, mouthing a scope. But Trepan didn’t push him away, which meant Lobe was allowed to continue–he just needed to push a little more.

Easy enough. Pushing his finger into the sensitive seam along Trepan’s hip usually did the trick. Trepan groaned, sinking back into Lobe’s arms, and that was it. He turned, furiously taking his partner in a kiss, lips and teeth mashing. Lobe guided him up onto the empty slab; he palmed Trepan’s codpiece, and the smaller bot was all too happy to open.

Lobe swallowed, heat swelling in his spark; he took Trepan’s unit, pumped it in his hands. Trepan whimpered, arms hanging around his partner’s neck.

It didn’t take long before the unit was stiff and warm in Lobe’s hands, and he eagerly released his pressurized unit.

“Nn!” Trepan chewed on the edge of a needle, watching Lobe split his channel open, ever so delicately, with two fingers. He rocked into the digits, moaning and mouthing desperately along Lobe’s chin and cheek.

Lobe smirked at the way Trepan’s folds and mesh fluttered around his fingers, trying to pull him in deeper. Lubricant spilled out on the table, as did transfluid in beads down both their shafts. Lobe pressed Trepan against the slab on his back, pinning his arms down by his sides. Trepan was fond of using restraints, but Lobe didn’t want to break momentum or mood to stop and fetch some; this would have to do.

Lobe pushed inside Trepan’s channel, grunting, the walls clenching down on him. Still pulling, still wanting and needing more. He fit himself easily to the hilt, and after Trepan started venting again, Lobe started pumping.

“Frag!” Trepan gasped, head thrown back. His fingers twitched, scratching at the table, but he made no effort to struggle.

Lobe bent forward, face to face with the smaller bot; he smiled, extending his long pointed tongue. Trepan blinked, open-mouthed venting; he choked on his whimper as Lobe kissed him, that abnormally lengthy tongue plunging down his throat. Trepan started rocking and swaying on the bed as Lobe picked up pace; their lips remained sealed, but less in a kiss now. Lobe twirled and thrust his tongue inside Trepan’s throat and mouth, much as he did unit in channel.

The gurgled whines and moans sent shivers down Lobe’s backstrut, right into his unit, and thank God his partner liked things rough. Lobe started moving faster now, harder. Too much and too quick for other bots; given his size, he might have even torn something. But Trepan adored the burning, if not evident by the increasingly loud (albeit sloppy) whimpers and his optics rolling back into their sockets.

Trepan overloaded first, loose transfluid and lubricant dripping from his thighs. Lobe never once broke or slowed pace. It would start to hurt now–just like they both preferred. Trepan gasped and groaned and coughed on the tongue filling and driving down his throat, hips undulating into Lobe, arms still pinned at his sides.

Lobe sat back, withdrawing his tongue; with a snarl he overloaded, holding his hips into place as he climaxed. Trepan winced, channel walls twitching. Lobe exvented, and for a few seconds, neither bot did anything.

Trepan cleared his throat, and Lobe obediently pulled out, releasing the excess transfluid. Looked cute, all messy on Trepan’s thighs.

“Feeling better?” Lobe asked, licking his lips.

Trepan massaged his temples. “For now,” he said, a smile slowly creeping on his face, “but I might need a second round in a few minutes.”


	67. IDW: Spinister/Krok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Could I please request some Spinister/Krok with focus on Spinister's hands. Either getting off of using them on Krok channel or Krok teasing them or any combination. I just want some Spinny hand kink please and thank you :D"

Spinister often believed his hands were the only good thing about him.

People called him dumb, reckless, insane. But when it came to his medic expertise, his hands were miracle workers. It surprised everyone he met; still surprised most of his crew, too.

Krok wasn’t that surprised. He’d seen crazier shit in his life. Mostly he was concerned about Spinister’s confidence. There was plenty of Spinister to like and respect. His loyalty, his weird sense of humor, his nice sturdy frame… But, yes, Krok did find himself awfully fascinated by the medic’s hands.

Spinister watched, alarmed but delighted, as Krok removed his maskplate–exposed a secret part of himself–to Spinister. Taking his hands, massaging the knuckles and joints, before sliding one finger after the other between his lips.

Spinister groaned, chassis trembling. Though Krok was simply licking and suckling on his fingers, Spinister was having a hard time stopping himself from falling apart.

It wasn’t so much the sensitivity. His hands needed to be stronger than that to preform many of his tasks. No, it was entirely, completely Krok; his optics, closed, frame relaxed, just… enjoying holding Spinister’s hand, kneading the palm, worshiping his fingers. All shields down.

Krok took two fingers–large enough to fill him–and slid his mouth down, down, just barely brushing his intakes, to the knuckles. Spinister’s engine sputtered, hiccuping. Krok looked him in the optics, capturing Spinister’s complete attention, and slowly sucked his way back up and off the digits.

Spinister almost smashed Krok into the slab after that.

Well, if he had, Spinister knew he could repair his captain. But this position was much, much better. Their reflection was faint in the screen, but it was enough for Spinister. He could see Krok’s expressions, wincing, gasping, falling, and that was all that mattered. Spinister kept the Scavenger seated in his lap, back pressed to his chest. He practically poured and curled over Krok, fingers delicately thrusting in and out of Krok’s channel.

Krok moaned, biting his lip. He wriggled into the fingers, hips giving little snaps. Spinister pushed his digits in a few more inches. Krok was open-mouthed venting now, entire body hot. His hands fumbled back, trying to grab something, brace himself against.

Spinister watched him the entire time in the screen’s reflection with hooded optics.

“A-Ah, Spin… Spin…” Krok rasped, coolant dribbling from the corners of his mouth and optics. The way his body rolled, grinding into Spinister’s fingers–Spinister vented, Krok rising with his chest.

Spinister took one finger to his node, rubbing; up, down, back and forth, increasing speed little by little. Krok dropped his head back, both hands clamped over his mouth. Spinister’s free hand simply pulled them off, soaking in Krok’s loud moans and soft cries.

Krok overloaded in Spinister’s hand, wilting against him once he finished.

Spinister withdrew his fingers, staring at the lubricant and transfluid. He tilted his head, lifting–

Krok stopped Spinister’s hand, pushing it back down. “D-Don’t,” he growled, “th-that’s… don’t.”

“But… You always taste so sweet.”

Krok blinked. “… Dammit,” he snarled, burying his face in his hands.

Spinister chuckled, nuzzling the side of his head. Krok really needed to learn how to take compliments, seriously.


	68. G1: Inferno/Firestar/Red Alert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Any chance of Inferno/Red Alert/Firestar but with Red as the 'sub'/bottom (I always viewed Firestar as big and bulky as Inferno in g1) ;)" Some squick ahead.

Red Alert whimpered, nearly biting down on Firestar as Inferno thrust in a little too hard and a little fast, breaking the rhythm.

“Hey,” Firestar growled, swatting him gently on a siren, “watch it.”

Red Alert looked up at Firestar apologetically. She grunted, unimpressed, but placed her hand back on his head.

Red Alert continued licking up along Firestar’s shaft, attempting to remain steady. A tad difficult given Inferno was pounding his channel from behind. But Red Alert was determined, as always; he licked and nipped at Firestar’s unit-head while stroking with both his hands. Occasionally twitching and hesitating when Inferno hit those deep nodes.

“Don’t tease the lady, Red,” Inferno scoffed, “use that pretty li'l mouth of yers properly.”

Firestar leered. “Do as you're told, darling.”

Red Alert gulped down a mouthful of coolant. He slowly wrapped his mouth around the top of Firestar’s head, then ever so cautiously worked his way down. His throat actuators instantly stretched and expanded to accommodate her massive girth. Red Alert nearly choked as it pushed past his intakes, down his throat. It burned, but he knew from experience that burning sensation would pass quickly.

Red Alert had managed to almost fit the entire unit in his mouth and throat. He took the remaining inches in his hands and, after making the final adjustments, started sucking. Moving the unit only a few inches out, back in, tongue pinned against the shaft and his jaw. Cheeks hollowed, lips dragging, leaving behind trails of coolant.

Firestar purred, shivering. “Look at ‘im, Inferno,” she exvented. Red Alert stared up at her with big, hopeful blue optics. “Such a good bot.”

Inferno grinned. “Let’s give ‘im a nice, big reward.”

Red Alert whimpered, optics squeezing shut, moist with coolant. Inferno had picked up the pace; much like his mouth, Red Alert had long since adjusted to both his partners’ well endowed sizes. The wet noises of lubricant as Inferno’s unit thrust in and out of him… Red Alert shivered, trying his best to keep up, his smaller body rocking between them.

“Darn, Red,” Inferno purred, engine revving, “yer channel’s just so fraggin’ good.”

“Mouth’s better,” Firestar purred, clutching the back of Red Alert’s head.

“Primus, I dunno how long I can keep holdin’ back.”

“Y-Yeah,” Firestar gulped, “I think… he’s ready… Aren’t you, darlin’?”

Red Alert strained to swallow. He dug his fingers into the slab. Prepared himself. Nodded.

Red Alert saw stars. His frame was blazing. Over-stimulation made everything from his plating to his spark sensitive. He couldn’t bother to try keeping up, allowing his partners to fuck him with abandon. Rawing his throat, rawing his channel, his optics crossing. Red Alert overloaded onto the slab, going limp.

“Frag!” Firestar cursed. A warning. Red Alert stiffened, as difficult as that was. A second later, and Firestar overloaded.

Red Alert never got used to this part. “Mmf–mmf–mmf!” He whimpered and whined as he struggled to swallow down mouthful after mouthful of transfluid. Then Inferno was overloading, filling his channel with more and more transfluid. Red Alert’s optics rolled back, siren flashing once, transfluid bubbling out from his stuffed channel and mouth.

As soon as they finished, Firestar and Inferno pulled out. Red Alert heaved up globs of transfluid, more spilling from his twitching channel. Inferno laid the smaller bot against him, stroking his slightly bulging mid-section.

“That was amazin’, darling,” Firestar vented, kissing the top of Red Alert’s head.

“Guh,” Red Alert gurgled.

Firestar and Inferno smiled. “You keep massaging,” Firestar said, wagging a finger, “I’ll do the cleanin’ today.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

“Yyaars maarrmmam.”


	69. IDW: Rung/Froid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promt: Rung is secretly an awesome dom
> 
> Since no partner was specified, I went with my natural choice.

Froid ran his hand along the smooth, bare surface of Rung’s desk, optics trained seriously on the metal but his gaze somewhere distant. In a far away place many centuries ago.

“You know, Sunder,” Froid said suddenly, continuing his study of and slow walk along the desk.

Sunder raised his head from tinkering with an anatomically correct brain module.

“Rung wasn’t nearly as innocent as people assumed,” Froid explained, optics narrowing. “A blip. A useless cog in a larger machine. Weak. Harmless. Yes, he was all of these, for the most part. But.” He stopped, tapping twice on the corner of the desk. Froid’s icy gaze turned to the rows upon rows of model ships. “He was incredible at just one thing. Something I never would have suspected–truly, that says something, given my profession. Soon enough, however…”

Froid grunted as Rung pressed his boot hard against his erect unit. The larger bot slumped forward, arms bound behind his back, legs spread to show his dripping, open channel and the bullet vibrator attached to his anterior node, currently silent and still.

“You continue to disappoint me, Froid,” Rung said, voice dark and gaze even more so. He sat before the bound bot kneeling in front of him, weighing a riding crop in his hands. “Both on and off the field. If you fail one more time, I’m afraid I’ll have to take serious action. And I can assure you, Froid…” Rung leaned forward, dragging the edge of the whip along Froid’s vocalizer gag, beneath his chin. “If I do, then and only then will you truly understand the real meaning of pain.”

Froid gulped, feeling a tingle run up his backstrut.

“Do you understand?”

Froid nodded weakly.

“Good.” Rung stood, exuding a power no one would ever expect from such a tiny, twiggy frame. “Assume the position.”

Froid wiggled, slowly lowering himself awkwardly onto the ground. Rung ran his fingers down his finial, along his back. He stopped on his aft, gave it two friendly taps. Froid grunted, raising his back end a little higher, and legs open just a little wider.

“Good.” Rung walked behind Froid, lining his unit with Froid’s channel. Froid shuddered at the brush against his plump folds. “One last time: you overload without permission, you will be punished. Severely.”

Froid shivered again.

“Now that you understand the rules–though you’ve failed me so many times before–let us begin.”

A switch of the remote, and the vibrator buzzed to life, sending hard and fast pulses into Froid’s node. Before he could even let out a whimper, Rung was pushing inside of him–slow, hot. He remained there a second, allowing Froid to stew and squirm, before thrusting. They were uneven with no stable pace. Froid’s CPU spun; he couldn’t see right, his body was heavy, aching, sensitive. Lubricant dripped in threads into a puddle on the ground.

As Rung finally set into a rhythm–fast, hard pumps that rocked Froid back and forth–it became increasingly hard to contain his approaching overload.

Froid moaned, optics squeezing shut, tension building in his actuators. Focusing, as hard as he could, not to overload. Mind over matter. He had a strong will. He could do this. Sure, Froid had told himself this many times in the past where he had failed, but not this time. This time he was determined to obey… determined, even, to please Rung.

That didn’t feel right, but he’d lament about it later once it settled in.

Froid was hurting. Pleasure turned to pain. He was over-stimulated, weak. He needed to overload. His anterior node felt like it was burning. Rung’s unit thrusting inside him was too much.

No. Not yet. Not yet not yet not yet. Froid wasn’t going to do. Wasn’t going to–

“Overload.”

Froid’s optics snapped open, and before he could even process what Rung had said, he climaxed. It was powerful, draining him of energy; his cries were silenced by the gag, transfluid and lubricant gushing messily on the floor. He didn’t notice Rung pull out, didn’t notice the vibrator had finally stopped. Froid continued rocking out his long overdue overload until his body was practically a dry, twitching mess.

The restraints fell from his back. Froid grunted, collapsing on all fours, his thighs quivering. A hand slid beneath his chin, gently tilting his head back. Through the haze, Froid could see Rung’s smile–sweet, kind. Approving.

“You did wonderful, Froid,” Rung cooed.

Froid punched the desk, leaving behind a large dent in the metal. Sunder glowered at the gangly bot bent over the desk, shaking with rage and…

“You’re horny right now, aren’t you?” Sunder grunted.

Froid twisted around, alarmed and revolted. “Stop reading my mind! Are you reading my mind? Stop reading my mind!” He grabbed the nearest model ship and threw it at the door, breaking the Primus’s Blessing into pieces.

Froid blinked.

“… I have an idea.”

“You’re still hor–”

“Don’t be so vile, for God’s sake.”


End file.
